Convergence
by Muircheartach
Summary: An uptight drum major meeting a punky flautist? This could get very interesting. Friends, or foes? Or an uncanny mixture of both? Written with Silvanuyx from FictionPress.
1. The Life of a Drum Major

Convergence

Prologue: Life of a Drum Major

"To be drum major you have to demand respect from your band. If you don't, your band will never listen to you."

That's what my father told me on my first day as drum major during my junior year. I believe that my father was slightly off in saying this. I seem to remember the saying being something about to demand respect you have to give respect.

My father has always had a slightly warped version of the world, or at least of the Arden Lake High School Marching Band. My father was the first drum major at Arden Lake and since then it has been said that my family has had a sort of monopoly on being the Arden Lake drum major, except that's not exactly what happened.

It all started with my parents. Besides my father being the Arden Lake drum major, my mother was the head drum major for Marshville High School, Arden Lake's biggest rival. With two former drum majors as parents my older brother Markus, my older sister Renée, and I all grew up living and breathing marching band and drum corps. When it came to joining marching band in ninth grade it was either join or be disowned.

Markus tried out for drum major during his sophomore and junior years and became drum major for his senior season. Being basically a younger version of my father, Markus went to all lengths to be drum major. His arrogance and strict attitude lead him to be hated by most of the band.

Renée was drum major the next season, her senior year, only out of spite for my father and to prove him wrong. Before then she had never expressed and desire to become drum major. But amazingly enough my crazy, footloose, tuba-playing sister became probably one of the best drum majors that Arden Lake has seen in years.

That leads to me. Breaking the year old tradition I became drum major for my junior year. Breaking even more tradition, I proposed to Mr. Stevens, the band director, that Arden Lake needed two drum majors.

"You did what?" my father yelled when I told him. I could tell that the conversation wasn't going to go well.

"We're holding drum major auditions father," I said calmly, or at least tried to.

"You better not be-"

"No, I am not giving up being drum major," I said cutting him off. "There's going to be two drum majors at Arden Lake next season."

"Why would you need two drum majors? If Stevens is saying that you're not good enough to be drum major…"

I sighed. Why did he always have to be like this? "Mr. Stevens didn't propose it, Father. I did." Saying something like that as like taunting the hangman and I knew it, but there were no other options.

"Why in the world would you even consider doing something like that?"

Thankfully my sister jumped in at that point. "Dad, do you know how hard it is to have only one drum major when everyone is spread across the field? When the drill spreads everyone across the field it's difficult to see the major all the time. And even when everyone is compact it's impossible for everyone to be able to see around everyone else. During my senior year the low brass and mellophones couldn't see me for half of the show."

Enter the idiot, I mean my brother. "Renée, does it seriously matter that the low brass can see the drum major? As long as the trumpets can see, it doesn't matter. They always have the melody so obviously they're the most important section in the band." Open mouth, insert foot.

"It matters, Markus, because if there wasn't a need for all of the other instruments we wouldn't have them in the band. You see, they are necessary because they are essential to the band. If we didn't have low brass instruments, we wouldn't have the wonderful bass lines to accompany the melody. If we didn't have mid-range voices, like the horns or saxes, we wouldn't have the harmonies or counter melodies and if we didn't have the high woodwinds you, as a trumpet player, would have to play all of those wonderful sixteenth note runs at tempo 180. So as you can see Markus, the other sections of the band are a whole hell of a lot more important than the trumpet section."

Markus opened his mouth for rebuttal when I decided it would be best to cut him off and not have to listen to bickering about the band's most important section for the next twenty minutes. "Drum major auditions are next Thursday, Father," I said looking over at him, hoping to escape this battle alive.

"Fine. If you want to let Stevens take away being drum major from you, go ahead. I won't stop you." I doubted it, but at least my chances of surviving were increasing.

"Father, I will still be head drum major. Whoever is chosen will be conducting from the side of the field or from backfield."

I could tell that my father actually considered this for a moment before he continued. "Has Stevens announced the show yet?"

I let out a sigh of relief. "No," I answered, glad for the change of subject.

"Do you know what it is?"

"Yes."

"Will it require a second drum major to get higher scores than Marshville?" It wasn't exactly a change of subject, but at least he was considering Arden Lake having more than one field conductor. "Yes, with the difficulty of the music it will be essential for everyone to see the drum major at all times."

He paused for a moment. "Hold the auditions. But Stevens better let you have a say in who becomes drum major."

"Yes, Father."

I dismissed myself from the dinner table and escaped up to my room. Telling Father was a lot easier than I thought it would be. I expected him to be as angry as he was when Markus told him he wanted to try out for football, or when Renée announced that she had auditioned for drum major, or when Mother…

But he wasn't. Strangely enough he was actually quite civil.

"DRAKE FOLEY, GET DOWN HERE!"

Or not.

* * *

I stood outside the band office and put my hand up to knock on the door, until it opened and I found Mr. Steven's face inches from my fist. "Foley, are you trying to knock my face in?" Mr. Stevens asked.

"Possibly."

"Don't be sarcastic, Foley. You do realize that I have the ability to replace you as drum major, right?"

"Yes."

"Good. Do you have the list?"

"Yes. Auditions are scheduled every fifteen minutes starting at 3:00."

"When is the last one?"

I checked the list. "5:45."

He looked at me like I had just told him that I ran over his cat with a semi. "I didn't realize wanting to be drum major was so popular," he said, sounding shocked.

"The list is half as long as it was before," I said encouragingly, checking the list for who was first.

"How'd you eliminate eleven people?" he asked, doing the math in his head.

"There was a reason for those forms, you know."

"You actually read all of those?"

"Weren't you supposed to read them?

"I glanced. That's enough. I don't get paid enough to read through some of the stuff that people wrote down."

I sighed and grabbed the applications before walking to the ensemble room where we were holding auditions. I saw that the first applicant was already waiting.

"Hi Drake!" one of the sophomore trumpet players said a bit too excitedly.

"Welcome to Hell, Drake Foley," Mr. Stevens whispered behind me. I sighed. I was going to be a long few hours, I just knew it.

* * *

"The results should be posted tomorrow before second hour. Thank you for auditioning and good job." I ushered the second to last applicant out the door. She had talked a bit too long and we were ten minutes behind schedule. I looked for the last applicant, but saw no one.

"Is it as much fun as you thought it would be, Drake?" Mr. Stevens asked.

"Not particularly," I answered truthfully.

"Who's next?"

"Lauren Carter, but she isn't here."

"That's odd. Isn't she the punctual one out of the clarinet section?"

I heard hurried footsteps coming down the hallway. "Sorry for being late," the sophomore clarinet player panted when she arrived. "Lessons went over and my mom forgot to pick me up and I just spilled my milkshake all over her new car."

"That's alright. Just take a seat and we'll start once you're able to breathe again," Mr. Stevens told her.

She sat down and dropped her snow-covered bag on the ground. "So, it's snowing pretty hard out there then?" Mr. Stevens asked. We had been forecasted to have snow that afternoon and I for one was hoping I wouldn't have to shovel out my car when we finished.

"Not really," Lauren answered. "I accidentally dropped my bag in the snow bank when I spilled my milkshake on the passenger seat of my mom's car."

I could tell he was trying not to laugh. "Well, why don't we start off with the directing part?" Mr. Stevens suggested when he regained his composure. "I'll play the two excerpts from last year's show that you were given and just try your best to direct along with the CD."

"Okay, but I'm not that good," Lauren admitted.

"Oh, that's alright. Drake wasn't very good either." I glared over at him. "Ready?" he asked.

"…Sure," she answered shakily.

"Press the button, Drake."

"I thought you said you were going to do it," I answered, knowing it would irritate him.

"Just do it, Drake." I started the CD. Her directing was pretty good. It had some minor issues, but nothing that couldn't be fixed. The interview part of the audition went well and shortly later she grabbed her snow-covered bag and left to go clean the milkshake off of her mother's car.

Mr. Stevens grabbed his chair and carried it back to the band room. So?" he asked.

I nodded. It looked like we found our new assistant drum major.


	2. Moving Day

Convergence

Prologue: Moving Day

"We're doing _what_ in a week?" My voice rose to an impossible squeak on the last word. "We're _moving_?"

My mom looked up at me with a sigh. "Yes dear, we're moving." Damned woman. She was always so... calm. Like she had done this packing up and moving in a week a bajillion times before. Oh wait. She had. However me... While I had been moving a lot when we were younger, my dad had promised we were staying this time. Heh. Fat chance.

I barely knew my dad. He was at work most of the time, cause he was some big guy at Whatever-the-hell-the-name-is Corporation, which was why we moved a lot. Because in order to get higher, we had to move. But I thought that sunny, bright, and _hot_ Texas would be our last stop.

Not a snowball's chance in Hell. That was not how my dad worked. The way my dad worked was, if it gets you ahead, do it. No questions asked. Which was why we were moving. Dammit.

I stormed up to my room, throwing myself angrily on the bed, and looked at all of the little things that would be plain _hell_ to pack. I had actually thought we were staying, so I collected a whole bunch of little things that I could find. Yes, I'm magpie-ish. I collect shiny things. They are pretty.

"Cecilia Rose! Start packing!" my mother yelled. Smart. She knew I wasn't. Packing, I mean.

But, fuck, I hate that name. The worst name in the world. Cecilia Rose. It sounds like some girl from ages ago, and it's so icky. "Ari, please, mother of mine!" I yelled back. Ari (Are-e, not Air-e, if you please.) was my nickname. Not sure where it came from. Back in kindergarten, or some age like that, before I was old enough to know that Cecilia Rose Maybelle was the _worst goddamn name in the world for me._ Yes, that long ago.

"Where the hell _are_ we moving to?" I called after a moment of thought. Please, to any god bothering to listen to a bloody blasphemer like me, let it be some place warm. We had to live in fucking _Alaska_ for a year when I was in sixth grade. It. Was. Horrible. It wasn't even a year, it was more like nine months. But it was long enough that I was able to live in the night for six goddamn months. Six hellishly cold months. I like Texas, and Florida, and the South for a reason. I could live without Dixie, really, I could. But I love the warmth. If I have to move to someplace like... _Wisconsin_, I'm going to kill someone.

"Arden Lake, Minnesota!" she yelled up. "You'll like it there! They have a nice marching band. I looked it up for you. We can sign you up for it if you want."

Aw, shit. Minnesota. Just as fucking bad as Wisconsin. At least they had a marching band. I was not going to go a year without band. Not a chance. "If you can sign me up for the band, I'll go," I groaned. Fuck. Minnesota. Land of Ten Thousand Icy Lakes. This was going to suck so much, I could just tell.

"Alright! I'll sign you up then," My mom called up. She sounded happy. She sounded _happy. _Was she happy to be moving to Minnesota? Wait... Hadn't she grown up in Minnesota? Yeah. She had. Oh, joy. Why Minnesota? I laid back on my bed, and closed my eyes, then sighed and sat up again, then went to my computer, and signed on, and started to email my friends, all with the message "I'm moving once school gets out."

Of course, by the time I had finished telling the last friend, the first couple had already conferred and confirmed that two days before I moved, we would be having a party. Oh joy. I idly blew back my two long stripes of brown hair, then crossed my eyes to look at the one in front of my face. I think I'll dye them green... Dark green. I like that idea. My mom already hates my haircut, and she's hate it even more if I dye it a weird color like that...

That'll get back at her for telling me now, 'cause she's known for awhile, I can tell.


	3. First Day

Convergence

Chapter One: First Day

Pulling into the parking lot on the first day of rehearsal, I noticed that I was the first one there. It wasn't that unusual for me to arrive before Mr. Stevens- most days I ended up waiting for him to get there so I could get in the building. Whether it was because I was chronically early or because I wanted to get out of my father's house before he could start asking questions, I always seemed to be at least half an hour early to everything. Over the past year since I had become drum major, he seemed to have become accustomed to finding me sitting outside of the band room when he arrived at school in the morning. After about ten minutes Mr. Stevens arrived, coffee in hand. "How long have you been waiting here?" he asked when he walked up to where I was sitting.

"A bit," I answered.

"Head inside before I find something for you to do. And trust me, it won't be fun." He unlocked the door and I followed him inside. Mr. Stevens wasn't a morning person, and from experience I knew it wasn't a good idea to bug him before he had downed a couple cups of coffee, so I busied myself with the first thing I could find to do. It didn't take too long to find something, since the chairs were nowhere to be found. Used to having to do things like that, I quickly found chairs and stands and set them up before the rest of the band started arriving fifteen minutes later.

Once everyone started to arrive I retreated to my usual spot next to the podium and looked over the band. I recognized that most of last year's underclassmen and juniors had returned, but there were many people that I didn't recognize as well. With all of the seniors that had graduated the previous spring, it was going to be an interesting season.

"Drake?" I turned and saw a nervous looking brown-haired girl standing next to me. The assistant drum major had arrived. "Is there anything I can help you with, Lauren?" I asked her.

"What am I supposed to be doing?" she asked. She looked about as nervous as I had felt the previous season, or this season to some extent.

"Well, I'll do roll call in about five minutes and by then Mr. Stevens should be done with the director's meeting and able to tell us what to do."

"Okay. So just wait here?"

"Pretty much."

After the last stragglers wandered in I stepped onto the podium and clapped my hands to get everyone's attention. "Okay, roll call is the first thing on the agenda today," I said, trying to not sound as nervous as I felt. I grabbed the roster off of my pile of papers and attempted to not drop them like last year. "Starting with the flutes."

I read off the names and thankfully I knew the first three flutes. Eliz, Rachael and Sam were all in the band last year. I saw the next name on the list: Cecilia Maybelle. She had to be a rookie- that wasn't a name you'd easily forget. "Cecilia Maybelle?" I said looking at the flautist who looked like the name would fit.

There was no reply and I was going to mark her down as absent, until I heard a voice speak up. "Yo. I'm over here. Name's Ari though." I looked over to where the voice came from. I found a girl with hair shorter than mine dyed a most unnatural color slouched in the first row of flutes.

I stared at her for a moment. Her nickname didn't make any sense at all. I wasn't knowledgeable about the nicknames for Cecilia, but it didn't seem like Ari would be one of them. It's understandable for nicknames to not be derived from a person's first name. The name I go by isn't my first name at all, but that's an entirely different matter. I didn't know why that was her nickname, but there had to be some sort of logical reason behind it.

"How do you get Ari from Cecilia?" I asked, trying to find the reasoning.

"You don't. That's the whole point of it," she answered, grinning. There had to be a reason behind it. I didn't have time to find the reason at that moment, so I put it in the back of my mind. Maybe it had to do with her middle name, rather than her first name.

I continued through roll call, trying not to think about the weird flautist with a funny name, but failing miserably. After roll call was finished and Mr. Stevens still hadn't appeared, I decided to introduce the section leaders. "Okay, for all of you rookies, I'm Drake Foley and I will be your head drum major this year." I heard some stifled giggles from around the band. Apparently someone thought the name Drake was funny. If they knew my given name, they would probably think Drake was tame in comparison.

"This is Lauren Carter and she is the junior drum major," I said gesturing towards Lauren. Lauren stood up and tried to step forward but ended up hitting her foot against the podium and tripped. I felt sorry for her, especially since I had done something just as embarrassing on my first day as drum major. After making sure that Lauren was okay, I continued introducing section leaders from around the band and finished with the colorguard captain when Mr. Stevens walked in. "And this is Mr. Stevens, our wonderful band director, who will now be speaking to all of you," I said, stepping off the podium.

"Was that supposed to be sarcastic?" Mr. Stevens muttered as he passed.

"Not intentionally," I answered honestly.

He glared at me. "Whatever. There are papers on my desk to alphabetize, but otherwise take Lauren and teach her how to direct. We'll be doing music, so run along."

I went into Mr. Steven's office and started sorting the medical records. The year before I had tried to find someone with a crazier name than mine, but I went looking for one particular form. Medical records were for parent chaperones in case something happened to one of the members while we were at competitions. Since it was required to list your full name, it was the perfect opportunity to find out what Cecilia Maybelle's full name was.

I found her form towards the end of the pile, meaning that she was one of the last people to sign up. I looked at the top of the page and saw what I was looking for. In a slightly messy scrawl was written _"Cecilia Rose Maybelle_," followed by her parents' names, birth date, and home address. Her nickname still didn't make sense. I couldn't find any reasoning behind it and that drove me crazy. It reminded me far too much of another flute player that I knew.

One that I knew very well.


	4. Day One of Preptown

Convergence

Chapter Two: Day One of Prep-town

I walked in to the band room, and glanced around, then at the clock. About two minutes before it technically started. Damn. I was hoping to be earlier than that. Ah well. It had been easy enough to find the band room. All I had to do was follow the other people coming in. I frowned, and glanced around at the people I would no doubt be spending the next few weeks with. Oh, now _this_ would be an interesting season. I have the shortest hair of all the females. And the most unique out of everybody. Oh, dear god. I've moved to Prep-town, Minnesota.

I held the handle of my duct and electrical taped flute case loosely in one hand, and walked to where a couple other flutes were sitting, and sat down, slouching idly in my seat and glancing around again. I flicked the long strands of dark green hair from my face, and grinned, remembering the look on my mom's face when she had seen them. It had been completely and totally priceless.

The two flutes two seats down seemed like they would be alright. They didn't seem like they would be dumb, preppy girls. Hopefully. Mostly flutes in marching bands were alright, cause it would be hard for preps to be in the marching band. Which was good, cause otherwise we'd have been down a couple of flutes before the end of the season. I watched the people walking by, and idly started to guess people's instruments. The short girl played clarinet, the tall, skinny ass guy played trumpet, and the shorter, just as skinny ass guy played trombone. My eyes landed on a guy and a girl standing by the front of the room, and I grinned. The girl looked like she might play saxophone. Alto, obviously. And the guy with the metaphorical stick shoved so far up his ass it was poking out of that dark, curly head of hair... was the drum major.

And just to prove me right, there he went on to the podium. "Okay, roll call is the first thing on the agenda for today," he said, smiling widely enough that I knew he was trying not to puke or something, then picked up the piece of paper on the stand in front of him and looked at it. "Starting with the flutes."

And it was through that that I learned the two girls sitting on my left were named Eliz and Rachel, while the one in the row behind me was Sam. Then... "Cecilia Maybelle?" He was so not looking at me, and was looking at the girl a few seats on my right.

I sighed. Aw, hell. I rose my hand, and waved once, watching him. "Yo. I'm over here. Name's Ari though."

He blinked as he looked over at me, obviously confused, which made me grin. Oh, that boy was a logical one, and I was a puzzle to him. "How do you get Ari from Cecilia?" he asked, obviously trying to connect the two names in a way that made sense to his logical brain.

I was going to fuck with his mind so much this year. "You don't. That's the whole point of it," I said, still grinning. He just blinked once, then continued. My grin was going to stay for a long while, I could just tell. I settled back in my chair, quite smug at this point. There had been some giggling at the drum major's confusion, and he had looked happy about the whole incident.

After he finished roll call, he nodded, and glanced around the band room again. "Okay, for all you rookies, I'm Drake Foley, and I will be your senior drum major this year." I snorted softly with laughter. Drake Foley? Wow. Drake for one thing, and Foley for the other. And he was still talking. "This is Lauren Carter, and she'll be the junior drum major this year," he gestured towards the nervous looking girl I had marked as an alto sax earlier; I had to wince in sympathy when she stepped forwards and tripped. That was not the best thing to do for one's ego on the first day...

He continued with introductions, going on to the section leaders. He seemed like he was stalling at this point. Either way, I found out that my section leader was Eliz. She seemed alright. I think we'll get along just fine. The mellophone section leader, Drew, seemed to stick out as well. I'd have said he had a stick up his ass as well, but he was way too relaxed for that. He was just... solid, and stoic. I never thought that would actually work for a person. And from the way Eliz looked back at him, they were obviously going out.

Then the band director walked in. Mr... Stevens. That was his name. Stevens. After a bit of muttering to Drake, Mr. Stevens stepped on the podium, and Drake, with an amusing little scowl, walked towards the office. I grinned, then turned to Mr. Stevens to listen to him talk.

"Welcome to the first day of marching band. I'm glad to see all of you here today. All of you should have gotten your music from your section leaders by now, and should have practiced it at least a little," he looked around the band room to a couple of chuckles. I blinked. I had no music. So I looked down at Eliz, who was frantically ruffling through papers, and then with a sheepish grin, passed the music down the row to me. I couldn't help but grin back. Oh, me and her would get along just fine.

Mr. Stevens had been watching that with an obvious grin on his face, and I had the feeling that most of the rest of the band had been as well. Obviously Eliz was a popular girl in the band. "Anyways. Now that..." He looked pointedly at me, and I shrugged.

"Ari."

"Ari has her music from our darling Elizabeth, let's look through it once or twice." A chuckle sounded from more than one person as instrument cases rattled as they were opened for the few who didn't already have them out. It took me about two seconds to open my case and shove my flute together to where it would be more or less in tune. A quick little toot on a B flat, and I was ready to rock. Or whatever. It was band.

I was ready to play, how about that one?


	5. Auditions, Once Again

Convergence

Chapter Three: Auditions, Once Again…

I hate that technicolored flute girl. ABSOLUTELY HATE HER. My reasoning for my hatred are as follows: #1. Her nickname makes no sense. There is absolutely no logic behind it and nonlogical things make my blood boil. #2. She is actually a pretty good flute player. Why does it always seem that people I hate are good musicians? #3. She's annoying. Need I say more? And finally, #4. She reminds me of my mother. It's strange when people you meet remind you of other people you know, but there's too much history behind it that I'd rather not go into.

To put it simply, my life sucked. I'm not much of one for speaking like that, but it described my life at that point quite easily. The beginning of the season was never very enjoyable for drum majors because there's absolutely nothing to do. While the band's learning music and marching technique, we get to sit there and learn how to direct, memorize time signature changes, and file paperwork, among other fun things.

I usually sat on the computer chair next to the podium and stared in to space, counted the ceiling tiles, or completely ignored Mr. Stevens, sometimes doing a mixture of all of the above. "There's one final announcement," Mr. Stevens was saying at the end of rehearsal one day. "For all french horn players there is a signup sheet on the band office window to audition for the horn solo this year. They will be on Friday after practice, and remember that it will be a solo on horn, not mellophone. Band dismissed." I was surprised. I hadn't noticed any solo in the score.

Mr. Stevens turned around to face me. "Drake, would you be willing to assist with the auditions? I would ask Drew, but I can guarantee that he is trying out."

"Sure, could I get a copy of the music?" I asked, wanting to see what the solo actually was.

Mr. Stevens pulled a copy off the podium and handed it to me. "Look it over a few times. It's the melody from measure 20 of the second movement."

I grabbed my bag from next to the chair and left the band room. The one year that there's a french horn solo, I couldn't try out for it. It was disappointing, mostly because I was probably the most experienced horn player in the band. As much as I was interested in hearing the solo, I wasn't particularly interested in listening to auditions for it.

After thinking about it for a while, an idea came to me. Maybe I could try out. There was nothing saying that I couldn't and we did have two drum majors. I would be able to play the solo and Lauren could have a shot at directing part of the show, which would be beneficial for her if she decided to be drum major for her senior year. As soon as I got home I started practicing. If I wanted the soloist spot, I needed to give it everything I had.

* * *

That Friday at rehearsal was quite interesting. It was obvious who was auditioning for the solo and their anticipation for the auditions was affecting the entire band. No one could concentrate at all. "Come on mellophones! Play louder!" Mr. Stevens said, getting irritated. "I don't care if there are solo auditions after rehearsal. If you don't play now, I won't let any of you audition." That got them going. The mellophones started to play like usual and rehearsal started to pick up. Mr. Stevens let Lauren and I direct the winds for a bit at the end of rehearsal before dismissing everyone for the day.

Using the excuse of going to set up the ensemble room from its current state of chaos, I was able to sneak in my french horn to a spot that was well hidden and unable to be seen from any position but my own. All I had to do was cross my fingers and wait for the right time to pull it off.

* * *

After 45 minutes and listening to every possible person in the band that played french horn, it was the opportune time to pull it off. "Well, I guess that's it," Mr. Stevens said after the last audition was over.

"Not exactly," I said, walking over to the spot where my horn was, "There's still one audition left." He gave me a puzzled look. "Mine."

"You can't be serious Drake." His expression was a mixture of anger, shock, and exasperation.

"I'm being absolutely serious, Mr. Stevens." I tried to keep as a straight of a face as I could. I needed to show him that I was just as serious about auditioning for the spot as I was about my position as drum major.

He sighed and ran his hand through his hair. "Drake, I honestly can't let you audition."

"Why not?" I knew what the answer was, but I needed to prove that I was the best person for the job. The only way I could do that was to convince him to let me play.

"Drake, you're drum major. Your job is to direct, not to be on the field playing. You should know that."

"I know, but you can't honestly say that I'm not the best french horn player that you've got." I knew that was exactly what he thought, even if he wouldn't say it. "And you can't honestly say that if there had been an opportunity for Markus or Renée to have a solo that you wouldn't have let them audition."

"Drake, I need you to direct. It's going to take a lot this year to make up for the losses we've had. I need you to be on that podium directing."

"Isn't that why we decided to have two drum majors this year? Lauren is perfectly capable of directing part of the show. She needs the experience this year so that she can direct as head drum major next year."

"Drake, do you realize how much people are going to protest about this? Don't you remember what happened after I announced that you had been picked for drum major? People already think that I give you special treatment because I know your father. Giving you a solo would just put more fuel on the fire." He was trying to convince me that it was impossible for me to audition, but I knew him well enough to change his mind.

"You said that any french horn player could audition for the solo, no matter what section of the marching band they were in. All you have to do is let me audition and judge my performance just like you did with everyone else," I said pulling my horn out and putting the mouthpiece in.

Mr. Stevens leaned back in his chair. I could tell that he was trying to consider all of the pros and cons to the situation. He sat in silence for a few moments. When he finally spoke again he had made his decision. "Name?"

"Drake Foley," I answered, relieved that he was actually letting me audition.

"Grade?"

"12."

"Primary instrument?"

"French horn."

"Years on french horn?"

"Seven."

"You may begin the piece when you're ready." I brought my horn up to my lips and took a deep breath. This was finally my chance to prove myself. My chance to do what I wanted to do and not what my father wanted. This was it.

When I finished the piece I brought my horn down and waited for Mr. Stevens' reaction. I hoped that it would be a good one. Mr. Stevens waited for a bit before speaking. "Drake, why did you audition for drum major last year?"

That wasn't what I had expected him to say. "Why do you ask?"

He stood up and started walking slowly around the room. "It's something I've asked to all the Arden Lake drum majors since I began teaching here," he said. "I remember exactly what your brother and sister said. Your brother auditioned because he felt that he was the only person that could properly lead this band, and your sister said that she only auditioned to make your father angry. I've even asked Lauren why she auditioned, but I haven't ever asked you."

I couldn't tell him the truth. I had never told anyone my true reason for auditioning. "Personal reasons," I answered.

He looked over at me. "I thought so. Well, I hope that you are prepared to deal with this. I don't think your father will be very happy."

"I know. That's why I've decided it's best to go and buy a suit of armor after this."

"Well, good luck to you Drake Foley. You're going to need it."


	6. One Weird Sectional

Convergence

Chapter Four: One Weird Sectional

It was Friday. The day of the french horn auditions, so Eliz just _had _to have a flute sectional that day. Just randomly out of the blue decided to wait in the band room excitedly for a certain french horn player to come out and tell her how it went for him.

Either way, it gave me a chance to find out more about my fellow flautists. There were six of us all together, including myself. Considering the size of the band as a whole... not bad. Not bad at all. I was slightly surprised to notice that there were no guys at all in the entire flute and clarinet section. Normally there's at least one brave guy in the clarinets, just maybe in the flutes. Not in this school.

I was going to have one hell of a time shaking this band out of its stereotype, dear god. From what I had been able to tell, it was stereotypes straight up the wall and hitting those clouds they get in Minnesota. Most of the trumpets are asses and guys, most of the flutes are slightly crazy, but still preppy-ish girls, and at least one of the drum majors has a stick shoved up his/her ass. I personally think that it's the guy… Drake. That was his name… Drake Foley.

"So then. Let's practice the first movement while we're here," Eliz chirruped happily, no doubt because her boyfriend would be walking in before too long. So basically, we had about ten minutes before the sectional was over. 'Cause Drew was one of the first people to audition for the solo.

"We'll be here as long as Drew's still auditioning," Rachel said with a laugh. Eliz glared at her, then lifted her flute, clearly preparing to start… at least when the rest of the section stopped laughing.

I couldn't help myself. "I wasn't gonna say it," I said, chuckling slightly. I grinned at Eliz when she mostly-mock glared at me, then she was, of course, forced to wait for the giggles to stop before we could start to play through the first movement.

When we finished the opener, it wasn't long before a problem spot was found and we had to go over it a few times. Then Drew came in to the room, a small grin on his face, and his french horn in his hand. Eliz squealed, set down her flute, and then jumped up to half-tackle him in a hug. I snorted slightly. Wow… I'm glad that I don't have a boyfriend. "How'ditgoHow'ditgo?" she asked excitedly.

She also sounded kinda like she was on something. Creepy. Remind me to never get a boyfriend.

Drew just smiled without saying anything, and went to put away his french horn as the Rachel and Sam also went to stand by him and Eliz, asking him how it went excitedly, bouncing up and down like she was on a pogo stick. Me and the other two rookie flutes, Emily and Olivia, just stayed sitting, watching them. The two freshmen just looked amused. I think the look I had on my face was one that basically said "what the fuck are they on?"

Drew had a very satisfied look on his face. It kinda reminded me of this one time when a cat we used to have managed to grab a piece of fish from the table and was sitting there eating it. "I think I did very well," he said, looking at the three of them. He smiled again, and I rolled my eyes. He never laughed. If there was one thing I've noticed about Drew in the past few days, it's that he never, ever laughs.

While the four of them gabbed a bit between themselves, I looked at Emily and Olivia. "So... What do you think of band so far?" I asked, giving them my friendliest smile. Okay, maybe not the best of ideas, as I can look pretty creepy when I try to be nice and friendly. I've found that for some strange, obscure reason, me being friendly doesn't quite work all the time.

This just happened to be one of the rare times it worked. Both of them smiled back at me. Before too long I found out that they were best friends, and that Emily had almost not joined, but ended up joining because Olivia had already signed up, but they were both enjoying it so far.

"I'm just worried about when we start actually marching," Emily said, blowing hair from her face, and I grinned.

"It's not that hard. I've been in marching band for two years now, and it's a piece of cake once you get it down," I said, waving my hand slightly.

Olivia looked at me oddly. "I thought you were new to the band too?" she asked, and I smiled. Ah... freshmen. Gotta love 'em.

"I moved here. I was in the band at my old school," I explained, then glanced over at the four gabbing over in the corner. "Oi! We gonna keep practicing, or are you three just gonna stand there talking for another three hours?" I called, putting on my best Southern accent. I had never managed to pick up a Southern accent. I always managed to sound... well, not southern. Let's leave it at that.

A dirty look was tossed my way by all four of them, especially Drew, who was enjoying the spotlight. Hmm, curious. Never would have pegged him for an attention loving guy. I grinned right back at them, managing to flick the clumps of hair back with a twitch of my head.

"We'll be there soon, don't worry," Eliz said, sounding slightly irate by my comments. I just grinned and leaned back again. This was going to be rather fun.

It took a bit of time, and a bit more nagging in order to get the rest of the flutes back over to where we were actually going to practice, but we got there eventually. It only took fifteen... twenty... thirty minutes to do so. I was so correct in how I placed them. Definitely preppy. Maybe not for this town, but... that was because this town was preppy in its entirety. There was barely anything non-preppy about it.

During that time of patiently (Ha!) waiting, I managed to figure out some of the harder parts. Wasn't able to play them quickly, but I was able to play them at a slower tempo. Olivia and Emily were talking between the two of themselves, and Eliz, Rachel and Sam were all talking to Drew. Then Drew admitted he had to leave, and the three of them all of a sudden lost interest in practicing.

Go figure.

I sighed, and kept practicing. Damn girls. It was only a few more minutes before I was the only one left in the band room. At least when there wasn't people walking through it, mostly french horns putting away their horns.

Before too long, Mr. Stevens came in, looking like he would have a thundercloud over his head, crackling lightning and booming thunder like there was no tomorrow. And then Drake came in, a french horn case in one hand, and a slightly smug look on his face, much like Drew's when he came in. Curious. I kept playing, but softened the noise, in case anyone started talking. If they did, I wanted to hear it. But, in any case, Drake just left the band room shortly after, and Stevens stayed in his office. Again, I was the only one. So I took apart my flute, put it away, and prepared to leave.

The next few practices would probably be very interesting, if my guesses are right.

Preppy schools are fun when the shit hits the fan. No one knows quite what to do...


	7. Traditional Matters

Convergence

Chapter Five: Traditional Matters

"Drake?"

I looked up from the pile of paperwork that Mr. Stevens had given me to sort. "Yes, Lauren?"

"The section leaders are wondering if we are still going to have the extra rehearsal for the rookies this year."

"Extra rehearsal?" I stared at her for a moment before what she said clicked in my head. ago. The extra rehearsal before camp week where the drum major makes sure that the rookies know how to march properly was one of the many traditions that my father had set up when he was drum major at Arden Lake over twenty years before. "Sure. Tell them that it will be Thursday after rehearsal."

"Okay. Um… I'll go do that then." She walked off towards the flute section to talk to Eliz.

During the one year that my father was drum major he set up many traditions that have occurred every year since then. Everything from the drum major's salute to the extra rehearsal for the rookies to the training in of section leaders and drum majors. My father has had an influence on the Arden Lake Marching Band for twenty-five years for one simple reason: he is obsessed with beating the Marshville Marching Tigers.

It all goes back to his days in high school. Arden Lake was a new school that had been built to eliminate crowding at Marshville. My father attended Marshville High School for two years before Arden Lake had been built. He had marched for two years with Marshville and during that time he developed several rivalries, one of them being with a flautist named Elisabeth Collins. Due to said rivalries my father felt that once he transferred to Arden Lake it was his job to develop a marching band that would beat Marshville. He was the main force behind getting the Arden Lake Marching Band started and pretty much set in place all of the traditions that exist today. If there is one thing that I hate about the Arden Lake Marching Band, it's the traditions.

Since I'd broken too many traditions already and brought on the wrath of my father several times, I decided to let that one slip. Maybe Lauren would get rid of it. To let her see how stupid the traditions we had actually were, I let her inform the band rather than doing it myself. I, unfortunately, had to actually run the rehearsal.

It was something I wasn't looking forward to in the slightest.

* * *

Another rehearsal rolled by. It went about as well as I had expected. Mr. Stevens still hadn't announced the horn soloist yet, thankfully. I could guess that as soon as it was posted, I'd be hearing from a few of the vets in the mellophone section, Drew being the loudest voice in the group.

"Rookies, meet outside on the practice field in fifteen minutes," I announced at the end of rehearsal. Grabbing the gock block and my water bottle, I slid my sunglasses on and exited the band room. The extra rehearsal was probably the only tradition set up by my father that actually helped the band as a whole. Having the extra rehearsal for the rookies helped them to learn technique and how to read drill charts, which saved time in later rehearsals, but I would have still rather not have it to begin with.

The rookies began filing in. "Form a basics block," I ordered them. They shuffled into position and one person in particular was front and center.

Cecilia Maybelle. It seemed like she lived to torment me. I saw her raising her hand out of the corner of my eye. "Yes?" I asked.

"Why am I here? I'm not a marching rookie," she stated.

"If you are new to this band you are considered a rookie," I recited, sounding more like my father by the moment. "And as this is your first year with the Arden Lake Marching Band, you are a rookie."

She sighed. "If I prove to you I can march, can I go?"

"No. I don't care if you're good, you still have to stay. Deal with it." More words from my father.

"Then can I help, rather than sitting here and going over what I already know?"

"No."

"Why not?" I could tell that she was purposefully trying to antagonize me.

"You are a rookie. You don't know anything about this band or how it works."

"But I never said that I wouldn't stay. Do you march with a straight leg and rolled heel?"

"Yes." Why did she have to be so annoying?

"So do I. Best in my old band. Helped teach our rookies," she said proudly before muttering. "Since our drum majors were hopeless."

"So? You are a rookie, not a vet. I don't care how high up you were in your old band. At Arden Lake you are a rookie and I'm the head drum major. Shut up and get in the block."

"I'm already in the block, but alright."

I rolled my eyes. I was glad that my current expression was hidden behind my sunglasses. Somehow she seemed to know how to push my buttons. The other rookies seemed to be straying. "BAND TEN HUT!"

They snapped to attention. Correction, most of them did. Some of them looked slightly frightened. "Eights and eights, moving forward. March forward eight, mark time eight. Continue until I call out another command."

I began hitting the gock block and the block moved forward. She was a good marcher. I yelled out comments to the other rookies and hopefully she didn't notice that I didn't have any comments about her marching.

* * *

"Hey drum major Drake. Wanna have a march off?" I had just dismissed the rookies and she wanted to challenge me. I didn't have the patience to deal with her.

"No," I said, grabbing my things and headed back to the band room.

"Why not? Afraid of losing?"

"No." Did it take a hammer to get anything to sink into her head?

"Then why not?"

"Because there is no point to it. I don't need to prove myself to you."

She shrugged. "But would you like me to shut up at some point in time?"

"Yes, it would be nice. But I really don't care if you make yourself sound like a blubbering idiot."

She raised an eyebrow. "Two things. One, did you really just use the word blubbering? Two, if you want me to then beat me. Get it?"

I stopped and turned to face the color explosion. "Yes, I get it. But I don't have to prove myself. I became drum major for a reason. If you want to test my patience, go right ahead. But I will not agree to do a march off with you."

"Testing your patience, hell, anyone's patience is fun." She shrugged. "It's one of the things I do. But you seem crabby today. Maybe next week then?" I turned back to go to the band room. "I don't want death by drum major, after all," she muttered as I walked away.

I started back on my original course. I could not put up with her. If I marched against her I would kick her ass, but I didn't need to prove to her that I could march. I was a drum major and my authority did not need to be challenged by some cocky idiot who didn't know what she was talking about.

I opened the door into the band room and saw Mr. Stevens sitting at the computer. "How'd it go?" he asked.

"Fine."

"Fine as in it went alright, or fine as in it really sucked and I don't want to talk about it?" I glared at him through my sunglasses. "I'm guessing the latter." He stood up. "Are Markus and Renée coming to help next week?"

"Probably. Renée's coming, but I don't exactly talk to Markus very often."

"Get here at eight on Monday morning and if they are available have them come then. We'll be having a meeting before we start rehearsal. I already told Lauren that she should arrive then."

The rookies began to trickle in to put away their instruments and grab their things. I grabbed my backpack and left. "Reconsidered it yet?" she asked as I passed the flutes.

I didn't answer and continued walking. My mother once told me that there are some battles that you just have to refuse to fight and I had a feeling that was one of them.


	8. Time to Stop Talking

Convergence

Chapter Six: Time to Stop Talking

"Rookies, meet outside on the practice field in fifteen minutes," Drake called at the end of rehearsal. I had just started to slouch in my chair when he said that, and my eyes shot up to glare at his retreating back.

I glanced over at Eliz, and blinked slightly. Was I supposed to go to that? I knew how to march, Stevens knew that, even if Drake didn't. She nodded slightly, and I sighed. Dammit. I wanted to go home and take a shower. Now I have to learn to march? Again? Hell, I was teaching marching before I came here. Never mind learning.

I stood up with a sigh, and went to look at her. "I have to go to that, don't I?" I asked glumly, and she laughed, then nodded.

"Yeah, sorry Ari, you do. All of us had to. It's actually a good thing," she said, shrugging slightly.

"Probably, but it's still gonna be boring. I'm a good marcher. I did what he's gonna be doing now when I was in Texas," I sighed again. "Ah well. I'll see if I can get out of it. If so, then goody. If not, then I'll make him suffer with me."

That startled a laugh from Eliz. "I wasn't joking," I said bluntly, and she nodded. "I know."

* * *

Once Emily, Olivia, and myself filed outside, I idly managed to get myself in to front and center when Drake ordered us to get in to a basics block. If there was one thing necessary, it was getting a good person front and center. If I had to stay, I'd stay there. I liked front and center, anyways.

I raised my hand. "Yes?" he asked, sounding exasperated.

"Why am I here? I'm not a marching rookie," I asked looking at him. He looked like a bug behind those sunglasses... A rather stiff bug, pinned to the wall with a toothpick.

"If you are new to this band you are considered a rookie. And as this is your first year with the Arden Lake Marching Band, you are a rookie." He sounded like he was reading from a card placed just inside his glasses. Or saying something he had heard a bajillion and one times before.

I sighed, letting my head roll back a bit. "If I prove to you I can march, can I go?" I will be very happy if I don't get laps for this. Because there's a chance he'll make me run for this, the bastard.

"No."

"Why not?" I asked, curiously looking over at him. I do wonder if he'll make me run.

"You are a rookie. You don't know anything about this band or how it works." More with the reciting. Let's pull the stick from your ass, and let you say your own words.

"But I never said that I wouldn't stay," I pointed out, making a rather good point I thought. Then, out of curiosity, "Do you march with a straight leg and rolled heel?"

"Yes," he said, sounding... peeved. Yep. He definitely sounded like he was starting to get a bit pissy. Maybe I should stop bugging him for a bit.

Na... What fun is that?

"So do I. Best in my old band. Helped teach our rookies," I said, a grin quirking my lips slightly, and I looked at him, then remembered why exactly I had been helping with that, and scowled. "Since our drum majors were hopeless," I muttered to myself.

"So? You are a rookie, not a vet. I don't care how high up you were in your old band. At Arden Lake you are a rookie and I'm the head drum major. Shut up and get in the block," Drake snapped. I think he was probably glaring at me from behind those shiny bug-glasses of his.

Okay, time to shut up. I've pushed my luck enough for now, and I could hear mutters behind me.

"I'm already in the block, but alright." That final quip was unable to be held back, and if I hadn't been holding my flute, I probably would have put my hand over my mouth. I grinned a slight apology, but I don't think he saw it. Damn him for not looking.

"Band ten hut!" he called, and I snapped to attention automatically, flute perpendicular to the ground, eyes straight forward, as still as I could make myself. I couldn't help but relax. This was what I was meant to do. Marching was my thing. It was what I did. It's what I lived to do pretty much. I forgot it over the winter, but remembered it every time I stepped on the field, or snapped to attention.

Drake called out what we were going to do. Simple eights and eights. Ah well. At the very least I would be able to get warmed up again for hell week next week. Which would explain why we were going over this now. It was always a good idea for rookies to know how to march before it was really needed...

As we marched, Drake yelled out comments to all of us. However, none to me. Well. I guess I was pretty good then. I was just here for the bloody fun of it.

In any case, we went through all of the basics, went over how to read drill, and then he dismissed us. I grinned, having been nursing a seed of an idea the entire time. I sauntered over to him and with my flute over one shoulder, looking at him, my head tilted slightly.

He, of course, didn't even glance my way.

"Hey drum major Drake. Wanna have a march off?" I asked, looking at him.

He glanced at me then, only for a second, a rather exasperated look on his face. "No."

He grabbed his things and started to walk back to the band room. Me being the annoying girl that I am... I followed him. Of course. "Why not? Afraid of losing?" I called after him, trying (and failing) to repress the grin that was fighting my control most viciously.

"No," he said calmly back, not looking back at me.

"Then why not?"

"Because there is no point to it. I don't need to prove myself to you."

Clever. Not really. "But would you like me to shut up at some point in time?" I asked, still trying to repress the grin I wanted to show. But I would probably get killed for it.

"Yes, it would be nice," he started, then continued, to my amusement, "But I really don't care if you make yourself sound like a blubbering idiot."

Did he really just use the word 'blubbering'? Who says that anymore? I could feel my face going in to one of those unbelieving expressions. You know, where one eyebrow is raised, and the mouth is slightly open... Like you see on TV all the time. I should never think that again.

"Two things. One, did you really just use the word blubbering?" Okay. I had to say it. Nothing was going to stop me from saying it. Not even drum major Drake with the stick up his ass. "Two, if you want me to then beat me. Get it?" I gave a challenging grin. Not that he saw it or anything.

Or maybe he did. He turned around then, and I thought he was going to make me run until I puked. Or fainted. Whichever came first.

"Yes, I get it. But I don't have to prove myself. I became drum major for a reason. If you want to test my patience, go right ahead. But I will not agree to do a march off with you," he snapped, clearly rather pissed off to all nine hells. However...

I... got lucky? I never get lucky. Coolness. I can deal with being lucky.

"Testing your patience, hell, anyone's patience is fun," I shrugged nonchalantly, inwardly thinking _however, especially yours._ "It's one of the things I do," _so not a lie_ "But you seem crabby today," _as all nine hells_ "Maybe next week then?" _please don't kill me._

He spun around to go back in to the band room, and I couldn't help it. I already got the last word in, but I had to get the perfect final jab to his pride.

"I don't want death by drum major, after all," I muttered, just loudly enough for him to hear.

I was so going to get in trouble for this later, I just know it.

Shit.

* * *

In any case, I got back to the band room in one piece, mostly because Drake Foley had made it in there before me, and had already disappeared in to Stevens' office. Lucky me. I think.

I'd rather not have the suspense hanging over my head like a noose, thank you very much. I'd rather he kill me and get it over with.

So I just went to pack up my things, and get ready to go after one heck of a rehearsal. Emily looked over me, with a look of slight awe on her face. "Are you always like that?" she asked, looking at me.

I rose an eyebrow, taking off the foot joint of my flute. "No. Just when someone bugs me," I grinned cheekily at her, then started to idly whistle softly.

"Why does he bug you?" She asked, blinking slightly.

"Because he has a stick shoved up his ass, and needs help pulling it out," I said, then considered what I had just said. "Or pushing it in further. I'm not entirely sure what I'm doing to him," I added reflectively.

That startled a laugh out of her. I looked over at her again. She was a nice enough freshman... Better than some I had met. Oi... "I wouldn't suggest doing that though. I'm surprised I didn't get laps for it. Cause the drum majors generally don't like to be teased. Or challenged. At all. Ever. Meaning, bad idea if you do," I chuckled near the end, and turned back to pulling my flute apart.

"Why'd you join marching band at you're old school?" Emily asked, looking over at me. She only seemed curious. I stopped pulling my head joint off my flute, and considered the question.

"Well... Why does anyone join marching band?" I asked. It seemed like a good answer... at first. Then I thought about it a bit more. "Okay, that's different for everyone. I joined when I was a freshman because I had nothing to do that summer, and the people seemed nice. Then I just... never quit." I shrugged idly, pulling the head joint off finally, and shaking the "condensation" out of it. Sure. It's condensation. We'll all believe that, then going skipping down the yellow brick road to Never Never Land.

Drake walked past me, sunglasses still on, and he still looked like a bug. He seemed to be fuming a bit. As he passed, I grinned, looked at him, and tossed my green hair over my shoulders.

"Reconsidered it yet?"


	9. Welcome to Hell

Convergence

Chapter Seven: Welcome to Hell

"Drake, wake up," my father yelled through the door, not that it would have done much good. It had been at least two hours since I had woken up. I hadn't been able to sleep much the night before, so I decided to give up on sleeping and stay awake. In those two hours I had managed to learn the count structure for the entire show, remembered all of the time signature changes and key changes, and memorized my solo. Memorizing my solo had been a bit more difficult. I had to sneak into my father's lesson room, without waking anyone, to be able to practice. My father has been a private lesson teacher for brass for several years and decided to get his lesson room soundproofed since he has a tendency to get… a bit vocal. It was the only place in the house that I could practice while everyone else was asleep, so I had to risk getting caught.

"Drake!" My father called again.

"I'm awake, Father," I said opening the door.

"Come down for breakfast," he told me. "Why do you have your horn out?"

I looked behind myself. I mentally kicked myself for leaving it sitting out. "I must have forgotten to put it away yesterday," I said quickly, hoping that he would take the bait.

"You shouldn't leave it out like that. Get dressed and come downstairs," he reprimanded, turning to go down the staircase.

I quickly put my horn away and changed into a pair of shorts and an old band t-shirt from freshman year. Hoping that my father wouldn't sense anything different, I descended the stairs.

Renée and Markus were sitting at the kitchen table in the middle of what seemed to be an argument. "You can't say that you were a better drum major than I was," Markus was saying. "Arden Lake won more awards during my year as drum major."

"Markus, do you know how much the band hated you during your year as drum major?" Renée retorted. "They only succeeded out of spite for you. And do you realize how many more rookies I had during my year as drum major? Your band was almost entirely vets."

"Renée, when would you like to leave?" I inserted, distracting them from their argument.

"Any time is fine," she responded.

"Are you able to come to rehearsal, Markus?" I asked, speaking to my brother for the first time in several days.

"Have to work," he grunted.

"Drake, how long is rehearsal today?" my father demanded.

"Nine to eight," I answered.

"And the rest of the week?"

"The same hours." I omitted that Mr. Stevens was letting us out early on Saturday, so that he wouldn't plan anything.

He looked like he approved and I quickly scarfed down my breakfast to be able to leave as quickly as possible. I grabbed my backpack and horn before heading straight for the car.

Renée sauntered out a minute later and climbed into the passenger seat. "Couldn't sleep?" she asked as I backed the car onto the street.

"How'd you-"

"I heard you get up." Renée often has insomnia, something that runs on the maternal side of my family. When I was younger I used to wake up in the middle of the night to use the bathroom to find her attacking Markus' face with Sharpies. He was never very happy about that in the morning. "When do you plan on telling Dad about your solo?" she asked.

"When the moon is made of green cheese."

"He's going to find out eventually, you might as well tell him and get it over with."

"It's not that easy."

"Have fun when he finds out."

We arrived at the school and I climbed out of the car. "Crap," I said realizing.

Renée realized it too. "Nice job Drake, you arrived here before the band director."

Mr. Stevens pulled into the parking lot a few minutes later. "Drake, you really take my "being late" speech to a new level. It's nice to see you, Renée." I glared at him. "You know that you were thinking the same thing," he answered as we entered the band room. "Ready for the meeting?"

"It's the highlight of my week," Renée commented. Sadly enough, it probably was.

As for me, I wasn't quite sure.

* * *

I opened the door and walked out of the band office. It went better than I had expected. I didn't make any stupid comments, drop anything, or get reprimanded. All in all, it went well.

I sat in my usual spot and waited for rehearsal to begin. Or tried to.

"What? What the hell is this about?" I heard Drew's voice yell.

"What? Who got it?" Eliz asked him.

"Drake!"

I turned towards the noise and saw Eliz move to reveal Drew. "What?" I asked cluelessly.

"You got the solo!" he yelled. "You're a drum major! You can't get solos!"

I stood up. "Mr. Stevens said that anyone could audition, no matter what section they were in. Three guard members auditioned, so it shouldn't matter that I'm not a mellophone. Besides, Lauren is very capable of directing part of the show."

"You helped judge it! That's the reason why I didn't help to choose!"

"I didn't judge myself, Drew. Besides, Mr. Stevens threw out what I said after I convinced him to let me audition."

"You only got it 'cause Stevens knows your dad." I should have expected it. Hadn't Mr. Stevens told me the week before that this would happen? I couldn't think of anything to say and stood there in silence looking like an idiot. "I knew it," he said smugly. You could have heard a pin drop; the silence in the room was deafening.

"So what if Mr. Stevens knows my father? I'm a better player and you know that. I'm a more experienced player. It's expected. And why does it matter to begin with? My father doesn't even know that I auditioned." I said a bit more than I would have liked. I was so focused on proving him wrong that I didn't think of what I was saying.

"And what will he say when he finds out?" Drew asked.

"Does it really matter?" I said, even though we all knew that it did.

"If he kills you, yeah. Lauren isn't that good yet," he commented, then turned to Lauren who was standing near the clarinets. "No offense or anything."

Thankfully at that moment Mr. Stevens entered the band room. "Good morning children. Welcome to Hell." I knew that he was enjoying it. Of course the terrified looks on the rookies' faces only put fuel on the fire. "For those of you who are new here, this will be one of the most physically and mentally taxing weeks of your lives. It will be hard, but the progress that we make as an ensemble over the next few days will be worth it." After looking over the band to presumably make sure that no one fainted, Mr. Stevens looked over at me. I had a feeling that he wanted me to do something for him, so I walked over to the podium. "Drake will be handing out the drill charts for the first movement as I read out your drill numbers. Remember these. They will make your life a lot easier and will make sure that you learn your drill and not someone else's."

I took the pile of papers from him and headed over to the flutes to begin. Mr. Stevens began reading out the numbers. "Eliz: F1… Rachael: F2… Sam: F3… Ari: F4…"

I passed by the technicolored flautist. "Reconsidered?" she asked slyly. I rolled my eyes and continued on to the rest of the flutes. If she continued like this, it was definitely going to be a _very_ long season.

* * *

I sat on my drum major podium as the band was scattered over the field learning their drill charts. Learning drill one of the boring parts about being a drum major. There is nothing to do _at all_. "Since you've all deserved it, take a ten minute water break," Mr. Stevens said over the long ranger.

I reached behind myself and grabbed my water bottle as the rest of the band started off the field to take a break. Since Drew hated my guts, I felt that it wasn't wise to take my usual spot near the mellos. And as the mellophones were the only section that was civil to me, I didn't have anywhere to actually go. Knowing that it was probably the only safe spot for me, I continued to sit on my podium.

"Drake, would you like to come sit by me?" Lauren asked as she went to sit with the clarinets.

"No thanks, I'm fine," I answered. She continued walking and I got absorbed with my thoughts.

When I least expected it, water came flying at me, completely soaking my shirt. I jumped off the podium. "Who did that?" I demanded.

No one answered, but giggles came from the flute section and began spreading around the band. I walked away from the practice field, took off my shirt and rung it out before pulling it back over my head. The way that this season was heading wasn't looking too promising for me. As much as I wanted to correct things, there was nothing I could do. All that I was able to do was sit and hope that it would pass over quickly.


	10. And Things Decline

Convergence

Chapter Eight: And Things Decline

"It wasn't my idea, I swear," I said to Drew with a sigh. "It was Eliz, going after him for you."

With a grin, Drew nodded, and went to hug Eliz. "Have I ever told you I love you?" he said, grinning down at her. The flute flushed slightly, and pushed him away. "Get away from me, ya big lump," she said, but her voice was teasing. He grinned again, and backed up slightly.

I made a face. Ick.

It was during dinner, and we were all hanging out just outside the band room. Needless to say, the hated one of the day was not around. I personally found the entire thing with Drake and Drew rather interesting. But that was just me. But... It wasn't a good thing that the entire flute and mellophone section had started to seriously dislike our stiff drum major... I know that much for a fact.

No doubt it would spread further as well.

I hope Drake has some good ideas on how to deal with this one... 'Cause I'm not in the mood to help out helpless drum majors.

* * *

Tuesday morning came around. I could tell the moment I got to the band room that this would be an... interesting... day. The other flutes had either been mocking him, or ignoring him. The mellos had just been ignoring him.

I glanced around at the staff we had that day, all standing in a staff huddle. Then I did a double take. Woah. That... was a very bright shade of turquoise. Awesome. And it was her hair. I absently tugged on my own green hair, then blinked. I will have to talk to her at a later time. Not now though. Now I had to get down to the field. I grabbed my flute and scampered down to the field.

Later on in rehearsal, the guard and battery were having issues with some of the drill. Some of the guard had to run through the snares, and the guard instructor was worried that with the flag work they would be doing, the snares would be smacked upside the head with flags.

If that happened, I would not mind, unless it was the head snare. He was alright, from what I've been able to tell...

The staff woman with the turquoise hair came over as I sat down, and idly looked around.

"I like your hair," I said as I looked up at her from the ground.

She looked down at me. "Thank you. I like yours too."

"You're Renée, right?" I frowned as I tried to remember what Stevens had introduced her as.

"Yep. I don't know you though... You new to the band?"

"Never mind the band, I'm new to the state. Called Ari." I snorted as I answered.

"I'd like to think I'm an old hand at this band. Was drum major for my senior year after all." She grinned, and winked slightly.

I laughed, and nodded. "Why were you only drum major for your senior year? In my old band, the drum majors had their positions for their junior and senior year."

Renée nodded. "Up until this year, we only had one drum major. So, only being drum major your senior year made sense. Then Drake came and changed everything." She laughed slightly. I could tell she wasn't really being hard on him at all. He had just broken with tradition.

I glanced around, and spotted the guard instructor yelling to the drill instructor from the back hash to the front of the field. They were still debating on how to get one guard member to her spot without killing a snare player.

"Does this happen every year?" I asked curiously, looking over at her with a raised eyebrow.

She laughed, and nodded. "Every year, and more than once," she said, looking at me again with a grin.

I sighed. "Great. We get to figure out this more than once."

Renée turned to walk away, and I thought of something just then, and said, "Hey Renée!"

She turned around to look at me curiously. "Yeah?"

"You have any of the turquoise dye left that I could use?" I grinned impishly.

She laughed. "Sorry, no. I used it all."

"Aww... Then where'd you get it?"

Her only response was to laugh, and walk away as the drill instructor yelled at us to get up.

* * *

Lunch came by, and found me sitting outside with the flutes and mellos, planning a way to traumatize Drake Foley. Luckily for Drake Foley, they were against violence. Lucky him.

No, they were going with the normal "stare at him with glares that flay skin off after five seconds". Drake Foley would probably prefer violence.

Oh, and unless he gave an actual command, they were planning on otherwise ignoring he even exists.

Poor Drake Foley. He'll be insane by the end of the day. And that was only two blocks of rehearsal. Wait. Except he's used to be stared at by tons of people... That may be the flaw in their plan. Ah well. We'll find out.

Then Rachel had another idea. "Why don't we whisper when he's around, and stop when he looks over? Like, even just whisper 'watermelon', or something. You know, whisper, and glance over at him, like we are talking about him," she suggested, laughing. The idea made the rest of the flutes and mellos laugh as well.

Okay, that idea will probably drive him nuts, if I've read Drake right. Oh, this will be fun.

Of course, they had to start it immediately. Drake was sitting over on his own, listening to his iPod, and idly eating his lunch. So they decided to stare at him for this period of time. I must admit, I found it boring to do.

If this is getting revenge, I'm going to not get revenge. It's boring, staring at a person for the fifteen minutes (Okay, I may be exaggerating a little) before they finally realize that just over ten people are staring intently and rather creepily at you.

He certainly looked freaked out when he looked up and saw all the flutes and mellos looking at him. I will admit, at that point, I was looking, but it was more bored then hostile. Unlike the rest of them. I think I saw Drake Foley jump. Or at least twitch... But he just looked away again, back at his iPod, and continued listening to it, and eating.

Phase two. Whispers. The group turned inwards, much to the relief of Foley, and started to mutter and giggle and laugh, glancing over at him at random, but often, moments.

Again, I was bored shortly after. They weren't really talking about anything, just tossing the name Drake in every so often. Which was amusing.

"Stevens is being Drake hard today, isn't he?"

"Yeah, he is."

"And he didn't give us a Drake water break for ages today. That sucked."

Oh yeah. It was hilarious to listen to. My giggles weren't faked, and neither were most of the other's. It sounded absurd. Tossed in the middle of a conversation - sentence! - would be a random "Drake".

Drake didn't notice right away, still listening to his iPod. Boring drum major.

Then he looked up, and sighed. I chuckled. Yes, we were still at it. And no, they wouldn't stop. I had no intention of it, anyways...

So, that entire thing continued through the entire rest of lunch. Drake seemed to be... a little annoyed, but it didn't appear to bother him that much. Just a bit.

As it was, the moment he stood up to go inside, so did the flute-mello group of people. I hung back a step, just so I could more of watch Drake and how he reacted.

He seemed a bit creeped out. More likely than not because we were following him. He glanced back, and then forwards, and went just a hair faster. So did the group of flutes and mellos.

I snorted where I saw where he was no doubt going. Of course. The bathroom. Smart boy. Most of the flutes and mellos were among the female half of the population. And therefore highly discouraged to going in to the boy's bathroom.

The only two males of the entire sections stopped as well. They nonchalantly leaned against the hallway walls, clearly planning on staying there for a good long while... Or until they got bored, which happened rather quickly. And they left. I however had to go to the bathroom anyways. So I walked in there.

When I came out, Drake was exiting the bathroom as well. He gave me a weird look. But considering all I did was raise an eyebrow at him, he got the picture that I really didn't give a shit who got the bloody solo. Really, I didn't.

Drew could go grow up, and Eliz could stop being obsessive.

And the rest of the flutes and mellos could stop being sheep. They were annoying. And I expected them to start 'baa'ing any second now. Even the rookies. Which was sad. Ah... Minnesota. How I hated it sometimes.

Anyways. I just thought it was amusing how Drake reacted to all of this. Really, I didn't care about most of this. I like watching how people respond to things like that. And he had very interesting responses.

But anywho.

I followed him back to the band room, and back outside, after I grabbed my equipment. I inadvertently followed him to the field. We were both going to the same place. It's hard to not follow someone... I mean really.

We got to the field, and I rejoined with the rest of the flutes, and set down my water bottle. Or rather, more of tossed it lightly. Or... tossed it a bit harder... Whatever. Technicalities. Not important right now.

The flutes were still doing their staring and whispering things. Drake noticed even more now that he didn't have his iPod on and playing. It was rather amusing, to say the least. He still seemed to be creeped out immensely. That, of course, was what amused me. Go figure.

As he called for everyone to go back out on to the field with their equipment, I grabbed my flute (my dot book hadn't left me yet) and ran to the set the drill instructor told us to go to. The mellos and flutes did the staring thing, and attempted to get other people from other sections to do it too. That... didn't work out so well. It kind of epically failed.

"You know, Drake should have never even tried out. He's drum major, he shouldn't even get a solo," Aaron, the only other male beside Drew in the entire flute and mellophone sections. He said it to a clarinet player, who, I do believe, couldn't have cared less if she had tried.

"There has been more than one school who's had a drum major have a solo," one of the baritone players, Nick, nearby commented.

The glare that Aaron bestowed on him would have sent a tree in to flames. It's a miracle that the baritone didn't spontaneously combust...

Nick just shrugged. "It's true. You saw that Weston got a soloist caption because of their drum major's trumpet solo a couple years back," he pointed out.

"They had three drum majors though," Aaron pointed out. "We don't."

"No, we don't have three. We have two though. That's plenty. Even you mellos, with your bells always in the way, will be able to see Lauren if you try," Nick shrugged again. "So stop complaining. You wouldn't be complaining if Lauren had gotten a clarinet solo, would you?"

That beat Aaron. He gaped like a fish for a good couple seconds before turning away to fume. I don't think it was because he truly believed what he was saying. I think it was more of that he didn't want to be proven wrong.

Ha. Sucker. Most people are wrong at least once. Other people just think they're always right. Even when they aren't. They're the biggest suckers. I laugh at them.

Even Drew had some issues on getting his own friends to agree with him. Sure, a couple were taken in by it, but there were a couple who thought he was an idiot. I personally agreed.

"Dude. The better player got the solo. Get over it and shut up," One of the frontline players just seemed exasperated with Drew now.

Drew, you might as well give up, I thought to myself, grinning. They aren't going to have any of your bitching around here. We're musicians, not whiny cheerleaders. Okay, I didn't like cheerleaders. Most cheerleaders. Two out of a bajillion were cool. But that was it.

That was the entire tone of the rest of rehearsal, including hostile stares, giggling whispers that really had nothing to do with him, and general hatingness, that didn't make it further then the flutes, mellophones, and a few more people who actually cared about the entire affair. I must say, that only a few people did, like, not many.

It made me laugh.

A lot.


	11. A Bit of a Mistake

Convergence

Chapter Nine: A Bit of a Mistake

I stepped into the band room wanting to run and hide. After the wonderful incidents of Monday and Tuesday being even worse, I thoroughly wished that the Foley family name meant nothing to the band. Unfortunately, it did. Due to that fact the entire flute and mellophone sections decided to hold a vendetta against me, I was stuck with an increasing amount of people working against what I was trying to reform in the band, as well as possibly an actual reason to go visit a therapist. It reminded me of the year when Markus was drum major. The sections started rebelling against his orders as drum major and in the end it took action from Mr. Stevens to end the arguments between the sections and the drum major. That year it had begun with the battery after Markus had informed them that they weren't able to keep tempo. It was what I had been able to avoid last year and wanted to avoid this year, but it seemed that Drew was making it difficult for me.

I walked into the band room by myself that morning as both Markus and Renée had to work that day. Sulking, I made my way to my spot near the podium. For once I wasn't the first one there. Unfortunately, it was the one person that I didn't particularly wish to see. Once again it was Cecilia Maybelle. I never wished more that I was habitually late. "Have you reconsidered my offer yet, Foley?" she asked from her seat in the flute section.

"I have reconsidered it, but the answer is still no," I answered, setting down my backpack and horn down. "I refuse to participate in something so childlike."

"Maybe that's your problem," she said, frowning slightly while opening her flute case and picking up the head joint.

"What do you mean?" I asked, surprised that she would mention something like that. No one has ever said anything of that sort to me. In the past it's always been the opposite.

"Maybe the reason that everyone in the band is against you is because you take things too seriously. Have you ever even laughed?" she asked, giving me a look that was something between pity and slight enjoyment. She was enjoying my suffering since I got the solo. It was driving me crazy.

I snorted. "You think it's easy for me? You try being in my position and see how you deal with it."

"Being drum major can't be as hard as you're making it out to be. Look at Lauren. She's perfectly normal; meanwhile you have a stick up your ass the size of a birch tree. Why can't you be like her or even better, like Renée. She was a drum major, right? Just let loose and have fun for once." She shrugged. Like Renée? If she said something like that, she couldn't possibly know that Renée was my elder sister.

I sighed. "You don't even know what you're talking about."

"Whatever. At least I don't have a stick up my ass." She continued with her flute as I turned to open my horn case. The band office door opened up.

"Foley, could I speak to you?" Mr. Stevens popped his head out of the door. I put my horn on the nearest chair and walked into the office. "It's nice to see that you're picking fights with every person that you see," he commented as I closed the door.

I rolled my eyes. "I'm not picking fights with people; they're picking fights with me."

"What do you call what just happened? Or what happened with Drew on Monday? You need to be above this Drake. If this continues we're going to have another Markus incident."

"What do you want me to do? It's not my fault that being a Foley makes such a difference in this band. If my father didn't know you I wouldn't have a problem half this big."

"Drake, there's nothing you can do about your father. It's a just an inconvenient issue that you can't do anything about. What you have to do with the band is to convince them that you're not your father, your brother, or your sister."

"Then what am I supposed to be?"

"Yourself." He stood up from his chair and walked towards me. "You might want to get out there. Rehearsal's about to start." I turned around and walked out of the office. I needed to do something and I was going to do it right. Well… as right as I could make a situation like this when I had no idea what in the world I was doing.

I walked into the band room and stepped onto the podium. I hit my pencil on the stand to gain the band's attention. "Good morning everyone," I began. "Today we're going to start things out a bit differently. I want all of you to bring your instruments and follow me outside." I stepped off of the podium and headed for the door. I was hoping that I didn't have to look back to see if anyone was following me. Thankfully, I heard a chair scrape the floor and figured that I didn't have to. When everyone arrived outside Lauren came up to me. "What are you doing?" she asked me.

"You'll just have to wait to find out," I told her. She gave me a look of disbelief and walked over to the clarinets. "Get into a basics block, five wide, vets in the center," I called out. As they formed the block I walked over to Lauren. "You can go into the block too." She gave me an odd look before joining in. I walked back to the front of the block and saw that Drew was in his usual position at the front and center of the block with Eliz to his left. Whatever, it made my job easier that way.

"Band ten hut!" I called out. The block snapped to attention. "Now that all of you know how to march, we will be having a bit of a competition. I will be calling out orders and whoever lasts the longest will be receiving a prize. If I call out your name, please exit the block and stand on the sidelines. Any questions?" I looked around the band and saw a hand. "Yes?"

"What's the prize?" a familiar voice called out. I suppose this was what closed the deal.

"Whoever wins will have me as their personal servant to them and their section for the remainder of the week." That caused a bit of a sensation in the band. I saw the opportunity to eliminate some people. "Dress center dress!" Several people missed it and continued chat. "As all of you should know, you're supposed to be dressing the block. If you're not, please go to the sidelines." Several rookies and, surprisingly, several vets reluctantly left the block.

As time passed and people continued to be called out, the group left dwindled. Soon, there were only ten people left. Those people consisted of Drew, Eliz, Lauren, Ann, the clarinet section leader; Sam, a senior trumpet; Alicia, the guard captain; Heather, a sophomore saxophone; Vincent, battery captain; Greg, tuba section leader; and none other than Cecilia Maybelle. As they filled in the holes, I considered my options. Obviously the worst case scenario would be if I got stuck with Drew, since he had a vendetta against me at the moment. My best bet was Lauren, except that the clarinets might try to get in on it since she was technically a clarinet player. That wouldn't be good, seeing as the clarinet section had multiplied from the four last year to ten this year. Guard wouldn't be ideal because I didn't want to break my back attempting to haul all of their guard bags around, plus they usually rehearsed in a completely different area from the winds and battery. Having Vincent win wouldn't be so bad, seeing as the battery typically didn't demand a lot, but as I didn't know Vincent that well, I didn't know how he would handle the situation. The saxes or tubas wouldn't be so bad, but the trumpets would drive me crazy. There was a feud going on between Sam and Alice, the section leader, and I didn't want to deal with that drama. Overall, I had no possibility of surviving this with my sanity intact.

"Dress center dress," I called out as I had called out after every round. They adjusted and I looked over to the sidelines. Those who had been eliminated were paying close attention to how things were progressing, obviously interested in what was happening. Including the winner's entire section in the contest was what they were interested in, especially since almost every section still had one person in the contest. I called the remaining ten back to attention and continued with the commands. Slowly the numbers started to dwindle down. First went Heather on a backwards slide. Then Alicia and Ann were eliminated on a mix up of commands. Then there were the diagonals which messed up Sam, Greg and Vincent. I went through everything that I could think of but there was still Drew, Eliz, Lauren and Cecilia Maybelle left.

I let them relax for a moment while I tried to think of what I could do to screw them up. It was going to be difficult. I had already gone through all of the things that we had already done this year, meaning that the only way to screw them up would be to string everything together. I called them back to attention and began explaining everything that I wanted done. I honestly think that they were thinking of murdering me for what I was about to put them through. It was understandable. I would feel the same way if I was in their position. Lauren stepped out before I even had them begin. About halfway through, Eliz missed a turn and left the block. Both Drew and Cecilia Maybelle made it to the halt at the end.

I stood in front of them as they were at attention. "Congratulations," I began. "The two of you are undoubtedly the two best marchers in the band. You know the commands better than anyone else. Your final test will not be anything having to do with difficult moves or crazy direction changes. The final test will have to do with how well you know our marching technique. Push the technique as much as you can. We will be doing all four of the box drills, and then stopping. Stay at attention until I tell you to relax. Understood?" Neither responded, so I figured that there were no questions. I counted them off and they began to march. Both of them were pushing the technique, but I noticed one discrepancy.

They halted and I let them relax. "Both of you did exceptionally well, but there was one mistake that I noticed while the two of you were marching. Drew, even though we rolled into forward direction changes last year, we changed it this year to stabbing into all direction changes as well as halts. Meaning that Cecilia Maybelle is our winner." The flute section started cheering. She walked up to me. "So when exactly does your servitude start?" she asked.

"Whenever you want it to start. But it ends at the end of rehearsal on Saturday," I answered, having a feeling of what was about to happen. And it did.

She walked over to the flute section and motioned for me to follow her. "Okay peoples. We now have our own personal servant for the next three and a half days, so enjoy yourselves. No limits, do whatever you want to him." She then proceeded in handing me her flute before heading back to the band room where we had musical rehearsal. The rest of the flutes followed suit and soon I was in charge of hauling six flutes back to the band room. I began to walk back to the band room carrying the six flutes as well as the gock block which I had brought out to use during the contest. I was almost to the band door when Drew came up to me.

"So the flutes have already started to have you as their servant, huh?" he commented as he was walking next to me, grinning slightly. He looked like he wanted to tell me something.

"Do you need to tell me something Drew, or are you offering to assist me in serving the flute section for the next three and a half days?" I asked. If he wanted to tell me something, then he should just get it out as soon as possible.

He looked over at me. "I wanted to apologize for Monday. That's all."

I laughed. "Honestly Drew. You're taking this way too seriously. It's fine. Just don't explode like that ever again, okay?" He nodded. "Could you open the door? I seem to not have any free hands at the moment." The two of us walked into the band room. Drew headed off to the mellophones.

"Foley, where do you think you've been?" Eliz asked as I walked towards the flutes. "We need our instruments and you're late." They were enjoying this. As I handed back the instruments I thought that maybe I shouldn't have included the entire section in this assignment. After I was finished handing everyone their flutes back I turned around and saw that Mr. Stevens was watching the entire thing.

"You know, Drake," he began as I passed him and headed back to my seat. "I wouldn't have done exactly what you did, but at least it worked. I just hope you enjoy being the servant to the flute section along with all of your drum major duties. Now go get me the diet coke on my desk." I turned and headed into the office.

Including the entire flute section was an absolutely horrible idea.

* * *

After assisting the entire flute section in getting their dinner that evening, I sat down at my usual table by myself and began my own dinner. Ever since I got the position as drum major the previous year, I had gotten used to being on my own whenever we had breaks or meals during rehearsal. I plugged my headphones into my ipod and turned up the first song so that I wasn't able to hear what was going on in the cafeteria. I didn't notice anything unusual in the cafeteria until I felt a tap on my shoulder. It was Lauren. I pulled my headphones out. "You may not want to look now," she told me. "But your father's here."

I turned around as fast as I could. There he was, standing next to Mr. Stevens. So much for his promise to stay out of things for the season. Leaving half of my dinner untouched I stood up and walked over to my father. He finished speaking to Mr. Stevens before turning to me. "I thought that you said you would stay out of things this season," I addressed him.

He pushed it off as if it didn't mean anything. I knew that it didn't mean anything to him at all. "If your brother and sister are allowed to help why shouldn't I be able to?" I knew that he was only trying to beat Marshville. That's all he cares about.

I sighed. "Could you at least not make it apparent that you're my father? I have to deal with enough already."

He scowled at me. "Fine, Drake. If you don't want people to know who your father is, go ahead. I'll even introduce myself as Joshua if you wish."

"Thank you, Father," I told him before retreating back to my table. When I got there I saw that it was a bit fuller than when I left. The entire flute section plus Drew were invading my private table. I sat back down; put my headphones back in and attempted to continue like before. Unfortunately, they didn't let me. Eliz grabbed my ipod and turned it off. "What do you think you're doing?" I asked her, attempting to get my ipod back from her.

"It's impolite to ignore people when they're your dinner guests, Drake Foley," she told me.

"You're not my dinner guests. I didn't invite you; you invaded my table which I have been sitting at by myself for the past year. Now if you'll excuse me, I've got other things to attend to." I snatched back my ipod, grabbed my food and walked off to another table. They followed me.

"You do remember what you promised, right Foley?" Cecilia Maybelle asked when she sat down next to me. "You said that you are our servant for the rest of the week, meaning that you have to eat meals with us."

"Not necessarily," I pointed out. "I said that I would be your servant, not that I would spend every waking moment with the flute section. I've got drum major things to deal with and that involves eating meals by myself."

"Come on, Foley. You spend your entire life doing "drum major things." Just let yourself have fun and be a teenager for once in your life."

"Thanks, but no thanks," I said before standing up and going to throw away the rest of my dinner. For some reason, I didn't have an appetite anymore. How could I possibly afford to be a teenager? Sure, it sounds like a stupid question seeing as I was only seventeen years old, but it's the truth. No one, and I mean no one, knows how much pressure is put on me by my parents' expectations. I'm expected to fill the expectations of my father as well as the ones of my mother. Markus and Renée had to deal with the expectations of our parents, but for them it was only of one parent. After the football incident with my father, Markus decided to ignore my mother and only listen to my father and do what he wanted. Renée was the opposite. My father has never exactly supported Renée, so she decided, despite living with my father, that she would listen to my mother and her expectations. For me, I never was given the opportunity to choose and therefore have been stuck in between my parents' silent feud for the past four years. It's enough to make anyone throw up their hands and give up.

Unfortunately, I never had the guts to do it.

* * *

For rehearsal that evening Mr. Stevens had the winds and percussion split up for a bit before starting drill coordination. The pit and battery went off with their respective directors as the winds split up into woodwinds and brass. Having two unoccupied drum majors, we each were assigned to a group and a director. I was incredibly relieved when Lauren suggested that each of us go with the group that we would naturally go with. I was happy to join the brass not only to escape the flute section, but to escape the director that had taken the woodwinds- my father.

Even though my father was a private lesson teacher for all winds, I was slightly surprised when Mr. Stevens announced that he would be taking the woodwinds. My father's specialty is brass, specifically his own instrument- the trumpet. But when you think about it, it's probably best seeing as my father has many former and current students in our marching band's brass section. One of his students was Drew, who took lessons on horn from my father every Wednesday evening; one former student was Mr. Stevens, who took private lessons with my father on trumpet a several years ago.

As I stood in the arc with my horn, I knew that it was only a matter of time before my father would realize who was playing the ballad solo. I still hadn't told him, being worried how he would actually take the news. It was probably the reason why Lauren offered to go with the woodwinds. She was one of the only people who knew my father's tendency to explode when things didn't turn out the way that he wanted them to. She was one of the few woodwind students that my father had, since a lot of his students aren't able to stand his criticism. But whether or not my father actually heard me, I played the solo at full volume. For some reason that I still can't explain, somehow standing next to Drew once again made me put more feeling into the solo. I don't know why, but it probably some odd thing that reminded me of back when I was marching mellophone or something.

After music sectionals, we headed onto the practice field to coordinate the music and drill. We were doing the ballad, so I expected to get yelled at by my father when I finished that evening. Once I set down my horn and returned all of the flutes to the flute section, I looked around and didn't see my father anywhere. "You should be thanking me," Mr. Stevens told me as he walked by.

"Why exactly?" I asked him.

"Because I just successfully got rid of your father for you," he told me. I gave him an odd look. "I called up your sister and had her just come up with a fake situation for your father to return home. You owe me. I take credit cards and cash. And coffee."

"Thanks," I told him before he got on the microphone and told everyone to get in their spots for the beginning of the ballad. After repeatedly conducting the first ten measures, I gave Lauren the podium and grabbed my horn for my solo. In retrospect, Mr. Stevens would have avoided the whole mess it he had written the solo for mellophone rather than horn. It it had been for mellophone I wouldn't have auditioned and Drew would have been chosen and everyone would have been perfectly fine with it. The reason that it was written for horn was that the timbre of the horn fit in better with the harmonic texture and the theme of the show. Rather than find a prewritten marching show, Mr. Stevens decided to arrange one himself. When he first told us the title I was a bit skeptical, but once I heard the music it seemed that it would work well on the field. The show was called "Rebirth" and featured a newly composed work as well as arrangements of several orchestral and wind band pieces.

After a run of what we knew at the end of rehearsal and Mr. Steven's end of the day comments, the band was dismissed and I was once again left to take the flute section's things back to the band room. Somehow I was able to make it with all of their things, my horn, and my water bottle without seriously injuring myself. At that moment I was wishing I hadn't proposed all of it, but at least it had brought the band away from a near war. I was willing to do anything to prevent being remembered for the same reason as my elder brother.

As I sat in my car getting ready to drive home for the evening, the door on the passenger side opened. I looked over and felt my stomach drop. Cecilia Maybelle was climbing into my car. "What do you think you're doing?" I asked her, exasperated.

"Since you are my personal servant for the rest of the week, you get to drive me home," she answered, smirking.

"That wasn't part of the deal."

"It wasn't specifically stated, but yes it was."

I was far too tired to argue, so I started up the car. "Where do you live?" I asked while backing out of the parking spot.

"Over by the elementary school and the lake."

_Great_, I thought. _The complete opposite side of town._

This was going to be a very long car ride, I just knew it…


	12. Of Awkwardness and Idiocy

Convergence

Chapter 10: Of Awkwardness and Idiocy

Well, this was certifiably awkward. Here I was, in the car, with Drake Foley, the uptight drum major. Yes, it was my idea, but hey. It was this or walk. I don't exactly have a license that works in Minnesota. Damn state...

The silence in the car was oppressive. At least to me it was. Maybe not to him, but then again, he was probably used to the silence. I wasn't though. So it was oppressive.

"So... Why'd you become drum major? I wouldn't ever be drum major. Not ever." Shit. I was babbling. I snapped my mouth shut, looking at him for his answer.

Drake just sighed, not taking his eyes off the road, and said calmly, coolly, collectedly, and annoyingly, "Personal reasons."

"Why's it personal?" Yes, I'm a busybody. Bite me.

"Because it is."

"But why?"

"Because it is."

"You're exasperating," I glared over at the annoying drum major, pouting slightly. "You know that? You can tell me. I'm curious, and probably won't stop bugging you for awhile." I informed him, only a hint (I think) of snippiness in my voice.

"That's wonderful. I'm still not going to tell you." He glanced over at me, and I thought I may have seen a hint of amusement on his face. Ohemgee! Was that an emotion other then indifference? Which technically wasn't an emotion, but whatever? Was I finally going to see a hint of the true Drake Foley?

I doubt it. Either that, or I have, and he's just a flat board all the time. If he's not a board, then he's just hiding a lot of things behind that flat exterior he's shown me. Damn boards with sticks up their asses. Wait... That makes no sense whatsoever.

"You're more than exasperating. You're plain annoying. Why won't you tell me? And don't you dare say it's personal," I said, folding my arms over my chest, and pursing my lips.

He looked over at me with one eyebrow raised and then pulled over the car to the side of the road, flicking on his hazards. "I'm not telling anyone. If you want to continue pester me, you can get out and walk home." He said, his voice calm.

Damn him. He knows my weakness! I don't like walking. It's a long ways after a long day of rehearsal. I nonchalantly shrugged, and leaned back. "I'll shut up. For now at least. Can't promise about later."

Drake sighed, and looked behind him for traffic. "Whatever," he muttered, pulling back on to the empty road, and starting to drive again, continuing on the road towards my house.

I watched the road for awhile, deep in thought. This senior was a very confusing person. Well, just closed up, which was different, but not that different. He didn't seem like he'd talk about much personal stuff, which wasn't all that good for him. I knew that much from my few teenage years. Not many. I was sixteen, not a bloody psychiatrist. That takes many more years of training then I will ever have. In my entire life. Twice over.

"Why don't you ever talk about anything to anyone?" I asked, my voice quiet, then turned to look over at him.

He just sighed. "Didn't we already go over this?"

"Yeah, it's personal. I know that much, you've said it enough," I rolled my eyes in exasperation. I only acted stupid, and even then, only sometimes. "Why is it personal? And I'm not talking about you just being drum major." There, my guess was on the table. He could either deny it, or he could accept it. This could get interesting.

Drake gave me a sharp look, just for a split second, and I rose an eyebrow slightly. I had made a hit it appeared... "If your entire life was controlled by your obsessive father, you wouldn't want to talk about things," he said his voice carefully neutral. Then he winced ever so slightly, as if he had said more than he had meant to.

I wasn't that surprised. But it was completely opposite from anything I had ever had to deal with. I barely see my dad, and my mom doesn't give a shit about what I do half the time. Yeah, I'm her baby, but she doesn't care, so long as I don't get hurt. Which isn't hard, 'cause I have this strange aversion to getting injured. It's very inconvenient.

"So it's your father? Did he make you become drum major?" I asked, tilting my head slightly curiosity.

"No. It was my own decision!" he said, his voice rising in volume near the end. There was something there, no doubt. His reaction told me that much.

"Why's that?" I asked, hoping he'd answer this time and not try to kick me out again. Three steps forward, one step back, always. Annoying drum major.

"Because I felt like it," he snapped, staring straight ahead at the road. "It was either choose myself or be forced to do it," he said, his voice slightly softer than before, and most of his body tensed. I noticed with some amusement that his knuckles were white against the steering wheel.

I frowned slightly, his words finally sinking in. "He would have forced you? That's not nice," I said pensively. Well, that would explain it. He wanted to feel like he had some choice in the matter, maybe? That would suck, to live with his dad. I'm very glad mine isn't around ever. That sounded mean, but if he was around, he may be like Drake's dad. Although, I'm not sure about that.

Drake snorted, and shook his head slightly. "Try living with him for your entire life," he said, rolling his eyes. "The one choice in my life that I regret," he muttered, no doubt, again, not for my ears.

I blinked slightly, hearing that supposedly silent comment that he had so brilliantly uttered. Well, at the very least, it sounded good. "Why'd you make that choice then?" I asked, then thought of something else that may have been good. "For that matter, what was that choice?" Crap that was aloud. That wasn't supposed to be aloud.

He sighed in… exasperation? Exhaustion? I wasn't sure. But, in any case… "It's one of the decisions in life that you're forced to make," he said wearily. Oh, poor baby, making decisions like whatever this one is.

I thought about that for a moment. Decisions like that… Parents… Hmm… Yeah, no. Not me. "Something tells me this is you, and not me," I said, rather amused by that. "What decision?" I asked, leaning ever so slightly towards him.

Drake seemed just as amused as me at this point in time. How surprising. He snorted and glanced over at me before turning back to the road. "You try having to choose which parent you want to live with when you're thirteen years old," He said, glancing back at me with a sigh, returning to his normal, glum, slightly peeved (mostly at me I think) self.

I thought again. Alrighty then. "Your parents are divorced?" I asked, the answer coming to me rather suddenly.

"Yes," he said, with a rather annoying "no duh" tone to his voice. I made a face over in his direction, and then thought about that for a moment.

"That must suck."

He all but glared over at me. "Whatever gave you that idea?" he asked sarcastically.

I looked over at him, my eyes narrowing slightly. "Shut up," I growled, not turning away from him. But he didn't say anything more. Eventually I looked back, just to see my street go by. "Um... Drake? That kinda was my street," I said, grinning sheepishly.

He turned to glare at me. "How the heck was I supposed to know? I may be a drum major, but I can't read your mind!" he said, his voice rising to nearly a show as he stared to slow the car.

I shrugged. "Sorry," I said, totally not meaning it in the least. "You distracted me. If you want, I can walk the rest of the way. If you, ya know, want. Or you can be nice -" I was interrupted by the seatbelt digging in to my shoulder and chest and nearly making me gag, as Drake stopped the car with a rather nice jerk. Well, nice if I hadn't been thrown forward.

"Get out," he said flatly.

I sighed. Why was I stuck with this ass of a drum major? "I was just being nice. But you apparently aren't." I paused for a moment. Might as well make it somewhat dramatic. "Meanie." Okay, I could have used a better word choice if I was going for dramatic. That was kinda more... six-year-old-on-a-playground-esque. Aka, not dramatic in the least.

"Get out."

"Alright. Fine then. Good bye, drum major with a stick up his ass!" I said cheerily. "See you tomorrow!" I added with an evil grin.

The moment the door shut, and I was far enough away, Drake turned off his hazards, turned around, and sped off. No doubt at just under the speed limit. Or just over if he was really pissy. I snorted at the thought, and then realized something.

Drake had been in such a hurry, he sped off before I could get my backpack from his back seat.

Drake Foley was holding my backpack hostage.

Oh darn.

* * *

I shut the door behind me as I stepped in to my house. I really hope my mom isn't - "Cici!" - shit.

Cici. My mother's (futile) attempt to get me to act my gender.

But really, Cici? I guess it makes sense, Ari and Cici, Cecilia and Cici. But really. Cici?

Claire Maybelle drifted down the stairs, all dyed blond hair, boutique clothing and fluttering annoyingness, and came over to me. No doubt to greet me and shower me in feminine affection. Save me, please!

"Cici -" Okay, no more Cici.

"Mother. Ari. Ar-i. Like the letters, R and E. R E. Please," I sighed, leaning my head back.

"Cici," Dense. As a. Brick. And hopefully _sinks to the bottom of a lake _as fast as one. Or with the assistance of one. "I got some clothes online, but they don't fit me, and I think that they'd fit you." Meaning she bought them in my size, which is one size smaller then her, and doesn't want to say "I bought them for you."

"Okay. Send them back and get the right size," I said, cause I totally don't want to try on bloody clothes that my mother picked out for me. I'd probably never say it aloud, but, she has horrible taste. At least to me.

Anyways. My mother fluttered back to her room and I proceeded to go to make myself some food. Like... a sandwich... That sounds tasty. That should tide me over for the night. So... Bread, peanut butter and honey. All the makings for a tasty sammich.

My darling mother returned to the kitchen, holding a bundle of various colored clothing over one arm. "Cici, these are the clothes that don't fit. Those you don't like I'll send back for my size," she said, nodding briskly, apparently missing the fact that I was making myself a sandwich and completely not paying any attention to her whatsoever. I mean, it's not like I stopped even, cause I didn't. Just cause my mom gives me a mini-fashion show doesn't mean I'm going to let myself starve. No way.

Pink shirt, pink shirt, another pink shirt, yet another pink shirt, orange shirt, red pants, _tasty sammich tastes very good, I think I may try out a different color for my hair, maybe a nice burgundy_, white and pink tank top, _maybe a shade of blue_, god dammit another pink shirt.

Eventually the fashion show ended. Ironically, it was at about the same time that I finished my sandwich.

"So, I was thinking we could go out to eat Saturday when your father gets home," she said as I slid the peanut butter in to the cabinet. I had to roll my eyes upon hearing that. My dad never gets home before 11 pm. If ever.

"I'm going to go take a shower and go in to my room," I said, sighing as my mother nodded vaguely. She had no idea what the hell I just said. I'd bet money that she had no idea what I just said.

"Do you want to watch a movie?" she asked, smiling brightly. I sighed.

"No, Mother. I do not," I said, then turned around to skedaddle out of that kitchen before she could ask me another question that I had already answered.

I sighed as I slid in to my room, and pulled out my drill charts and dot books. I had a hair of studying to do. Then I gave up, and pulled out a sketchbook. I'd get plenty of marching band over the next week...

* * *

Thursday morning, I woke up bright and early, at eight AM. I hurried down to the kitchen, grabbed breakfast, which was a piece of toast with peanut butter on it, chucked my lunch in my backpack, which I had repacked earlier, and left.

I don't have a car. That's why I leave at 8:15 in the morning. 'Cause I'm unlucky enough to have to walk. It's not far, just a mile and a half or so, but it's still a pain, and my mom doesn't want to wake up at eight-thirty to drive me, and refuses to let me use hers. Which is a major pain, let me tell you.

So after a rather nice warm-up hike to the school, I got in to the band room at 8:50 or so. This will suck in the winter, with a backpack full of books, and snow five feet deep on the ground. Okay, maybe not five feet, but it'll seem like it.

Before too long, we headed down to the field for more practice. "Drake, would you mind carrying my water bottle down to the field for me?" I said, grinning widely at him.

"Yes, I mind," he said bluntly, but, despite that, he picked up my water bottle, juggled the other things he had been required to haul down by the other flutes, including flutes (the instruments, not the people), and started to head down to the field. I followed shortly after, whistling slightly to myself, flute in one hand, and my other things in my other hand. By other things, I mean drill charts, and music, and such. Yes, I was carrying my own flute, despite the fact that I could have Drake bring it down. I don't trust anyone else with my flute.

When I got down to the field, I noticed Joshua on the field, along with a younger looking carbon copy next to him. I narrowed my eyes slightly as I looked at him, and frowned slightly. He had to play trumpet. Like Joshua.

Great. Two of them. Just what I need... 'Cause it had to be his son. Just had to be. I disliked just one of them. Now we have Joshua Junior. I mean, seriously. I've had one woodwind sectional with Joshua, and I'm already disliking him. Most uptight person I have ever met. Ever. No joke.

We went through basics, with Drake leading the band on that, then split up for sectionals again. Joyous. Probably going to be with Joshua and Joshua Jr. this time.

Sure enough, when the woodwinds went to the end of the field, Joshua and Joshua Jr. came with. "Woodwinds, this is my son Markus," Joshua said, his voice rather calm.

I let out a slight sigh. This was going to be a very interesting rehearsal, I was positive.


	13. Drake Foley, the Unlucky One

Convergence

Chapter Eleven: Drake Foley, the (Un)lucky One

I, S. Drake Foley, being of sound mind and body hereby write my last will and testament. I leave all of my belongings and possessions to…

Oh, who am I kidding? Nobody wants my crap. My death will soon be upon me and I can guarantee that no one will want any of my possessions. Drew will want my solo, but that's not really a possession; it's more of a privilege. He'll be happy about getting the solo and I doubt that he'll care that it's because I'm dead. And his parents will be proud that their son has a solo. They won't care about tradition or winning; they'll just be happy that their son is good at what he does. Unlike my father, who exploded when he found out that I was the one with the horn solo in the ballad. There are billions of things that he sees wrong with me getting the solo. It involved an hour long lecture and a whole lot of yelling here it is in a few main points.

Reason #1 as to why my father wants to kill me: Drum majors don't have solos. It is a drum major's job to direct, not to play.

Reason #2 as to why I will soon be dead: I'm (supposedly) giving up my command as drum major by stepping off of that podium. Drum majors need to demand respect and by going on the field, the band sees themselves as equal to me. That's a bad thing.

Reason #3 as to why I should start shopping for coffins: French horns aren't meant to be on the field. There's a reason why we march mellophone and not french horn. French horns belong on the stage, not on the field.

Reason #4 as to why I should write a eulogy: I'm giving more power to Lauren. I shouldn't be allowed to have an assistant drum major because then I can pull things like this. Lauren should still be marching clarinet.

Although it's not said directly, another reason why I should find a funeral home is implied. Reason #5: I'm breaking tradition. I'm destroying the band that he set up and doing everything I can to go against all that he's set up. And therefore, my father wants to kill me.

Hopefully someone will go to my funeral. It'll probably be Renée, seeing as she's the only one who seems to care that I'm alive. But she'll probably see it as an actual reason to dye her hair (again.) Markus might go, but I have no idea as I haven't talked to him recently. I really don't know Markus very well, but I suppose that we're both trying to achieve the same thing. Markus is trying to gain father's approval by being exactly like him. I'm trying to find a way to have both of my parents proud of me. We're both fighting losing battles in trying to please our father. Scratch that, Markus is losing and I've lost. I'm going to die. I suppose that Father would show up to my funeral to make sure that I'm dead, but that's about it. Three people- it makes me feel even more pathetic.

But I'm not dead yet, so I have to keep going despite the fact that there's a noose around my neck. I pulled into Cecilia Maybelle's driveway this morning and realized that father isn't the only one who's trying to kill me.

I'm also slowly murdering myself.

I put the car in park and waited for Cecilia Maybelle to come out the front door. It was approximately the time that she would have to leave and I didn't see her walking on the way, so I waited. A few minutes later the front door opened and Cecilia Maybelle came out carrying her backpack. She stopped when she saw my car in her driveway, obviously surprised to find it there. She approached the driver's side window. I rolled it down. "What are you doing here?" she asked, a questioning look on her face.

"I saw you walking to practice yesterday and figured that you might need a ride," I answered. Internally my reasoning was different. My real reason for coming early was to leave my house before my father did. I had wanted to get avoid him at all costs this morning, and the only excuse I could think of when I was leaving was that I had to pick up Cecilia Maybelle.

"Cecilia Maybelle?" Renée asked, confused as to who I was referring to. "You mean Ari, right?"

"Yes," I answered, pulling on my shoes. "The flautist. She asked if I could give her a ride to practice today."

"Dude, I should go with you," Renée commented. "Ari's a cool person." I gave her a sour look. She stopped cutting her tofurkey sandwich and gave me an odd look back. Then she realized what I was trying to tell her. Cecilia Maybelle didn't know that I was related to Renée and I wanted to keep it that way. My association with the Foley family wasn't well known with the newer members of the band. The some of the vets knew, but didn't talk about it. They all knew my father. Most of them were surprised that I hadn't been disowned yet.

"Drake Foley? Being nice to the Ari?" Cecilia Maybelle questioned, shocked at the idea. "It's a miracle. I'll take the kindness of Drake." She meandered over to the passenger side of the car and I rolled up my window. By the time my manual window made its way to the top, Cecilia Maybelle had ditched her backpack in the back and was sitting in the passenger seat. I backed my car out of her driveway and started towards the school.

For the first few minutes there was an awkward silence in the car. It didn't really bother me, but I didn't want Cecilia Maybelle asking any awkward questions again so I turned on some music. I was figuring that when I hit the power button to the CD player that Vivaldi would start playing out of the speakers at a nice medium level. I remembered a little too late that Markus had used the car last.

And death metal started blasting through the speakers.

Cecilia Maybelle jumped and put her hand over her heart. I turned the volume off. "Jeez! What the hell do ya listen to?" she asked.

"It's not mine," I explained quickly. "I share the car with my brother and sister. It's one of their CDs." I fiddled with the dial for a bit and Vivaldi came on. Unfortunately, it was too late.

"Ah… siblings," Cecilia Maybelle started. "Glad I don't have any of those."

"You're lucky. My family is the most messed up group of people in the world." Shutting my mouth, I realized that I had said too much.

"Well…" she started. "My family isn't that normal either. I don't really know my dad, and my mom bugs me a lot."

I sighed. "At least your parents would be proud if you got a solo." Again, too much.

"My dad wouldn't care, and my mom would… flutter." She shuttered at the thought.

"My father is a control freak and my mother…" I stopped talking. I had gone into the one topic that I never talk about. I felt like crawling in a hole.

"What about your mother?" Cecilia Maybelle asked, curious as to why I had stopped.

"Never mind," I dismissed the subject, hoping that she would drop it. She didn't.

"What? I'm sure I'd rather have your mother than mine." _Probably. You're a lot like her…_

"It's nothing," I insisted.

"Seriously, what is it?"

"It's nothing."

"I rather doubt it."

"I'd rather not talk about it," I said, trying to calm myself down.

"You'd rather not talk about a lot of things," she commented.

I pulled the car over to the side of the road and flicked on my hazards. "Do you want to walk the rest of the way?" I asked feeling angered at her persistence.

She shrugged. "Not really, but it's true. And you know it." I looked at her for a moment before turning off my hazards and looking over my shoulder to pull back onto the road.

"Whatever," I said, pulling back into the lane and accelerating. "It's not like I've never heard it before."

"Keeping stuff on the inside is bad for your health, you know," she said matter-of-factly.

"I really don't care," I commented, trying to ignore her. "In my family it's better for you if you don't say anything."

"I never want to be a part of your family then."

I snorted. The thought of it was hilarious- Cecilia Maybelle as my sister. I'm sure people would pay to see that. "That's a good thing."

"Aww, you never want me as your sister? I'm hurt." _Sorry, but I already have a sister that's like you._

"Hooray for you."

"Shut up."

I pulled into my usual parking spot in the parking lot by the band room. I was happy to see Mr. Steven's car already there. That way I could avoid any comments about being early. I opened my door and made my way to the trunk to get out my backpack and horn. "Remember to take all of your crap out of my car this time," I told her.

She was digging through my back seat. "Shut up," came a muffled comment. "I kind of have to this time."

"You needed your things last time," I said, slamming the trunk shut. "And it's not like I shoved you out of the car and sped off." Thinking about it, I realized that was exactly what I had done to her.

She appeared out of the back seat with her things. "…Actually, you did. But I forgot. All of my things now are what I need." She shut the door and I locked them. I began my trek to the band room. I really wasn't looking forward to rehearsal. Father would no doubt make sure that he was at rehearsal all day so that he could watch over what I did, as well as prevent me from doing anything else to wreak his traditions.

I walked into the band room and set my backpack and horn on my usual chair. I opened my horn case and took out my horn. I figured that I might as well warm up if my father was going to rip my playing to shreds in a few moments. I played a few notes. "Buy that suit of armour yet?" Mr. Stevens called from his office. Cecilia Maybelle gave me an odd look while taking out her flute. I walked into Mr. Stevens' office.

"Why do you ask?" I questioned, looking at him while he lounged in his computer chair.

"At about nine o'clock last night I got a phone call from your father. Of course it was after about five minutes of yelling that I realized what he had actually called about. It seems that he's… angered about the fact that you have a solo this year."

"You didn't get the hour long lecture."

"Lucky me. Anyways, I figured that you might be here early. Of course this revelation of your father's throws a monkey wrench into my plans for today. I was going to have you go with the woodwinds for warm-ups so they can get used to you playing the solo, but I can understand if you want to stay with the brass today."

I sighed. As much as I wanted to avoid my father, the woodwinds needed to become accustomed to how the show was going to run. Plus I didn't want anything to seem unusual today. "No, it's fine. I can go with the woodwinds. I'll tell Lauren to go with the brass when she gets here."

"Sometimes I wonder how you do it," Mr. Stevens informed me.

"How I do what?" I asked, emptying out one of my valves.

"Don't do that in my office," he reprimanded. "Sometimes I wonder how you put up with your family. They're a bunch of lunatics." He typed something into his computer. "Do you know when your mother is coming back to the country?"

I startled. I wasn't expecting Mr. Stevens to ask about my mother. "They're scheduled to come back sometime in September," I answered, hoping that he didn't notice the pause that had occurred. "Why do you ask?"

"Just wondering," he answered, not saying anything else on the subject. I was waiting for any other comments from him when my father burst into the office. "Rich, I need to speak with you," he all but yelled when he came through the door.

"I figured," Mr. Stevens commented, shutting off his computer monitor. "Why don't you sit down," he suggested. My father sat down on a chair next to Mr. Steven's desk. I muttered an excuse and made my way out of the office, making sure to close the door on my way out.

Avoiding several odd glances at me about what was happening in Mr. Steven's office, I managed to make it to the practice rooms. I shut the door and leaned against it. My day was going wonderfully. Three near incidents with my father, a forced car ride with Cecilia Maybelle, and two mentionings of my mother. It wasn't even nine am and this day was in the running for the worst day of my life. It's a bit of an achievement seeing as I've had some pretty horrible days.

I pulled up a chair and started to clean out my valves. It had been a while since I had any time to do horn maintenance. I had become so absorbed in my cleaning that I didn't notice the group of band members that was gathering on the other side of the glass door. I jumped when there was a knock and someone entered the room. It was Lauren. "Drake, rehearsal's about to start," she told me. "Are you okay?" She seemed concerned.

"I'm fine," I answered, putting one of my valves back in. I stood up.

"Are you sure?" she asked. "Joshua seemed upset when he was talking to Stevens."

"I'm fine," I reassured her. I looked up and noticed the group that had gathered outside the practice room. "Why are they gathered here?"

"I don't know," she shrugged. "I guess they think its fun to watch you clean out your valves."

I raised an eyebrow. "That's an odd obsession to have."

Lauren laughed. "I suppose, but it could be worse." _Like an obsession with winning…_

I followed Lauren back into the band room where the majority of the band was assembling their instruments. I moved my backpack onto the floor and leaned my case next to it. "Mr. Stevens wants us to switch places for warm-ups this morning," I told Lauren while putting my horn in its case. I sat down on my chair. "You should go with the brass after basics."

"Do I need to do anything different?" she asked.

"Probably not. It should be the same as the woodwinds."

Mr. Stevens walked out of his office with my father directly behind him. "Basics. Practice field. Go," he informed the band. He walked over to the podium and handed me the gock block. "Do the usual basics. After you're done with basics, take a quick water break and go straight to the usual areas for warm-ups. We'll meet you there." I nodded. I put the gock block in the side pocket of my cargo shorts and grabbed my horn case and water bottle after latching my case shut.

"Hurry up, Foley," Eliz beckoned from the flute section. "We're waiting."

I made my way over to the flutes. After grabbing water bottles, drill binders, dot books, and instruments I made my way to the field, hoping that I wouldn't trip and kill myself.

After a quick basics session and water break, I loaded up again and walked over to the section of the parking lot where the woodwinds warmed up. My father stood nearby, watching me attempt to carry about sixty things at once. "What are you doing?" he asked when I arrived.

"I'll explain later," I told him with no intention of ever explaining anything. I unloaded in the flute section and returned to my usual spot next to the director. I opened my case and leaned my horn in the case so I would be able to easily take it out when we came to that part of the warm-ups. I conducted for the beginning warm-ups and for the musical segments of the opener, but when the ballad came up my heart started to race. What would my father think? Despite the fact that he didn't approve of me having the solo, he would still have something to say about my playing. I had experienced his critique before, and from those experiences I was nervous about what he was going to say this time. Before we played the segment that included my solo, he allowed me to play a few notes.

"Beginning to C," he called out the segment that contained my solo. I knew that he was specifically only doing the part of the ballad with my solo so he could listen to it specifically and not have to worry about anything else. He began the segment and I brought up my horn. After taking a deep breath, I began to play. Playing from memory, I attempted to play all of the correct dynamics and articulations. After the cut off, I slowly brought down my horn and waited for my father's critique.

But it didn't come.

"Altos, you are incredibly out of tune." He pointed to one of the second altos. "Play your F sharp." He went through all of the altos until they were tuned to his expectations. Then he returned to his score and looked over the measures that we had played. I expected something to come then, but he went over all of the accompanying parts before he came to the solo. "Drake," he addressed me once he came to the solo. "Your crescendos need to come up to forte slower." I waited for other comments, but he called out the segment again, this time without the solo. After we didn't play over the segment again, I assumed that he approved of how I had played the solo.

For the first time in my life I had gotten the approval of my father. But rather than feeling proud of myself, I felt more ashamed than I had ever felt in my life.

* * *

I dropped my lunch onto the table and sat down. After warm-ups and incorporating more music with drill, it was finally time for lunch. I had been looking forward to escaping from the band and my family. Unfortunately, it seemed that my ipod had gone missing and I was stuck sitting at lunch actually having to pay attention to the world around me, which helped attribute to the worst day of my life.

"Hey Drake, how's it goin'?" Renée asked, plunking herself down next to me.

"What do you want?" I responded, slightly angry that someone was disturbing me.

"Geez, who fed you angry cereal this morning? What happened to my peaceful younger brother? Now you've turned into an angsty, homicidal teenager. I want Drake back," she ranted. "Is Dad provoking you again?"

"Yes," I grumbled.

"It looks like you're going to have a wonderful senior year," Markus commented, sitting down across the table from me. "Welcome to the club. Dad has a tendency to screw up everyone's lives during their senior year. At least you have the opportunity to rebel against him."

"What is this, the pity party?" Renée asked. "You two can ruin anyone's good mood." She thought for a moment. "Although I suppose it's not your fault. It's what we get for being members of the Foley family."

The three of us sat in silence for a moment. It was true. The more that I thought about it, the more the Foley family seemed to be cursed. Anyone who was male in the family seemed to turn out exactly the same way. I just hoped that I wouldn't end up like all of them.

Disrupting my thoughts, Cecilia Maybelle walked up to the table, obviously wanting to talk to Renée, seeing as I seriously doubted that she would want to talk to either Markus or myself. "Hey Renée, you want to come sit by us?" she asked.

"Sure, Ari," Renée responded. She turned back to Markus and me. "Sorry guys, but you're kind of boring. I'm going where the action is."

"Whatever," Markus grunted in response, stabbing his food with his fork. I stayed silent. There wasn't much I could do. Renée always seemed to be the only one of us who could avoid being a Foley, probably because there was so much difference between her and the rest of us. At times I felt envious of her.

After Renée and Cecilia Maybelle walked off, Markus and I sat in silence for a moment. I really didn't know what to say to him. Markus and I hadn't really had a real conversation with each other since I was ten, and after all of those years I couldn't think of anything to say that would be appropriate. "Sometimes I think you're really lucky, Drake," Markus said, breaking the silence.

"What makes you say that?" I asked, confused.

He stayed silent for a moment, gathering his thoughts. "You're lucky because you've been successful in rebelling against this family," he answered.

"How have I been successful?" I asked. It just didn't add up. "I haven't been successful; I have father wanting to murder me, a band that hates me, and a director who thinks I'm insane. How is that successful?"

"As much as you think you're failing, look at every other person in this family who has tried the same thing as you," he told me. It just made me more confused. "I've failed at trying to be myself and trying to be like Dad. Now I have an image that is nothing like what I am. Dad tried to rebel and ended up exactly what he didn't want to be. He's successful at what he does, but he's unhappy. At least you're trying to do something different than this circle of idiocy that our family seems to always repeat." He took a drink out of his water bottle. He had a disgusted look on his face. I was guessing that it was from whatever he had in his water bottle. "I really have to stop drinking this stuff," he commented. "It tastes like shit."

I looked at my brother for a moment before I started to laugh. "Then why do you drink it?"

"Because it's supposed to be good for your immune system," he answered, taking another swig. "It's this or end up getting sick all the time. Sometimes I think it might be better to get sick."

Father walked up to the table, obviously with some important business. "Markus, there's a meeting in the staff room." Markus nodded and started to pack up his garbage. Father then left for the table that Renée was sitting at without saying a word to me. It made me nervous, seeing as no matter how much he criticized you, it was always worse if he didn't say anything at all. Markus picked up his things and went to leave. "Good luck, Drake," he told me before he left, leaving me to think about what he had said.

* * *

After drill learning in the afternoon and a hectic (and horrible) dinner, I wanted to go home and skip our evening session. Then I got a surprise visitor.

I was sitting on my podium, waiting for the session to begin when a screech came through the air. "DRAKE FOLEY!" Before I could turn to see what was going on, I was tackled and nearly fell of off my perch. "My bestest freshman/drum major buddy! How are you doing?" a familiar voice shrieked in my ear.

It took me a moment to process what was going on. "Elena, what are you doing here?" I asked.

She backed away from me. "What, am I not wanted?" she asked.

"No, it's not that," I tried to explain, turning to face her. "I just wasn't expecting you to be here. I thought you were in Europe until school started."

"I decided that my parents might want to see me this summer before I go back to college," she said, jumping off of my podium. I scrambled off behind her. "I thought it would be nice to come see everyone and how the show's developing this year. Plus, I heard that my favorite horn player has a solo this year," she winked.

"Except that he's kind of regretting it at the moment," I told her.

She gave me an odd look. "What do you mean by that?" she asked, tilting her head slightly to the right.

"You know my father," I explained. "Anything that goes against tradition-"

"Is ultimately bad," she finished. "Yeah, I know. I was just wondering if there was any other reason than the usual ones."

"No, just the usual."

"Well Drake, good luck to you," she told me, then turned away from me and looked around. "Where's Stevens? I want to know where I can help."

I looked around as well. "Uh… He should be coming soon."

"I'd probably be more beneficial if I went and looked for him myself," she said, emptying some dirt off of her sandals. "I'll see you around."

After Elena arrived things seemed to go rehearsal seemed to go better, mostly because my father had someone else to drill about things rather than me. Besides being my former section leader, Elena was a former student of my father's and a music major, which drew his attention away from me and my solo. While I felt slightly sorry that Elena had to go through my father's interrogation, I was relieved that he wasn't focusing on me.

"How's the interrogation going?" I asked Elena on one of the water breaks.

"Pretty good," she answered nonchalantly. "I found out that you're now the servant of the flute section. How'd that happen?"

I was a bit startled. "I lost a bet," I told her. "I suppose itt was more that I offered my servitude as a prize in a march-off to prevent the band from hating me."

"Well, I think it worked," she commented, sitting down on the grass. "The band isn't angry with you; they just find it funny that you have to serve the flutes. Plus, I think that Drew finds it amusing." I silently fumed. "Come on Drake, you know I'm just yanking your chain. You know that I don't mean it."

"I know," I commented. "It just seems that everything I try to do ends up going horribly wrong."

"I think it's more of you just happen to be very unlucky. You'll grow out of it." She left to go talk to Renée, leaving me by myself. Elena ended up being right, but at the moment I doubted that I would ever grow out of being unlucky.


	14. Playing with IPods

Convergence

Chapter Twelve: Playing with IPods

I have spent entirely too much time today with Joshua. I'm so glad that it's Friday, the second to last day of Hell Week. Just one more day, and then I might not have to deal with the tyrant that is Joshua. Might. I didn't know if he would also be helping out during the rest of the season. Now I'm really glad that it's time for lunch. I might get to get away from the tyrant for an hour. Again, might.

I walked up to the school again, very glad to not have to haul my stuff back to the school. Damn, but Drake had made a definite mistake when he made his prize be servitude to the winning section. I grinned when I remembered the look on his face when I ended up winning that competition. That had been priceless, in every sense of the word. He had given me the best look ever to think about.

I walked in to the band room, grabbed my stuff from Drake, grabbed my lunch and put my flute and music down, and turned to Eliz. "So, where will we be eating today? Lunch room?" I asked, tilting my head slightly.

She nodded. "At our normal table," she said, then picked up her lunch. I walked with her out to the lunch room, sitting at a table near the middle. As I started to pull out my food, others started to drift over, mostly flute players and Drew. We all know Drew is a little bit special, and likes to sit with many girls. Gee. I wonder why. Really, I do. Not really. We all know why.

Sam looked around the crowded lunch room, and then turned to the rest of the table. "We should have Renée come over here. She's pretty cool," she said, then Eliz glanced around.

"We'd probably be better than who she is sitting with," the section leader said with a laugh.

I glanced over. "Ew. Joshua Jr. and Drake. Yeah... Who wants to go see if she wants to come over?" Dead silence accompanied my words, and I had to roll my eyes. "Oh, for fuck's sake," I muttered, standing up. "I guess I can, since no one else wants to."

With that, I stood up and walked over to the table the three of them were sitting at. "Hey Renée, you want to come sit with us?" I asked, jerking my head towards my table. Eliz waved madly when Renée looked over, and I rolled my eyes.

"Sure, Ari," she said, then turned to the two boys. "Sorry guys, but you're kinda boring. I'm going where the action is."

Amusingly enough, the only reaction to that was Joshua Jr. muttered "Whatever." Drake just stayed silent. I grinned, then skipped off, with Renee close behind me. She wasn't skipping though.

"Yay! I have a cool person now!" I said with a wide grin as I walked back over to the table, then plopped back down in my seat. Renée sat next to me, and leaned forward on to her elbows.

"So gang, how's life?" Renée said, a grin crossing her face.

Drew laughed slightly. "I'm sitting with a bunch of girls. I'm just fine," he said, his voice a slight drawl. Eliz, in a lightning fast move that impressed me, slapped him in the stomach. He made a slight "oof" noise and clearly winced. I felt a snort of laughter escape me against my will, which made me giggle even more.

"I'm good," Sam said, and Rachael nodded. "Me too."

Eliz rolled her eyes. "I'm doing good. At least when my boyfriend isn't being a moron," she glared over at Drew, who gave her a sheepish grin. I think it may be something that just happened between them, because Eliz could seem pissed at Drew one moment, then cuddling up to him the next.

Renée nodded. "That's good to know. How are sectionals going in woodwind land? Enjoying having Joshua as your director?" she asked, grinning slightly.

"I don't like him," I said, making a face. He got on my nerves for some odd reason.

Eliz nodded. "Agreed," she said. Rachael and Sam both nodded their own agreement.

Drew laughed slightly. "I wouldn't know how sectionals went," he said, then yelped when Eliz smacked him in the stomach again. "Ow! Abuse! Abuse!" he cried jokingly.

Renée rolled her eyes, then continued the conversation, ignoring Drew and Eliz mock fighting on the other side of me. "It's expected. I've had him for sectionals before. He's a prick."

I chuckled dryly. "Just from sectionals I can tell he's a prick."

"Trust me. He's a prick. My freshman year I was stuck in sectionals with him for about six hours one day. Now this was before hell week, so we were only doing music. The low brass and high brass had split and we were going over the closer. We were getting the usual comments such as 'trombones you're sharp', 'baritones, you're slow,' etc. Then out of the blue, 'Renée, you played measure 52 wrong." I'm perfectly fine with criticism, but he didn't even tell me what I did wrong. Plus, he singled me out and made me play it in front of everyone about fifty times, each time not telling me what I did wrong. Maybe it was because I've had him for lessons, but he's still a prick. He's a good teacher, but a horrible person. I'd like to see him march tuba," she said, then paused for a second. "Okay, end rant."

Drew nodded. "He's done things like that to me in my lessons. He makes me do the same measure over and over again. And he never tells me what I do wrong," he said, his voice turning in to a groan at the end of it.

Eliz sighed. "I'm glad my private teacher is better than that," she said with a sigh.

"If I had a private teacher, I'd hope he was better than that," Rachael said with a laugh, getting a laugh from the table.

"Renée, there's a meeting in the staff room," a voice said behind me. Holy shit, where did he come from? I instantly clapped my hand over my heart, pretending to pant slightly, getting a small laugh out of people around the table.

Renée waved her hand nonchalantly. "Yeah, I'll be there in a minute," she said, leaning back slightly.

Joshua sighed, then turned his gaze to another at our table. "Drew, are you available to make up your lesson on Saturday?" he asked, the stare of death turning to poor, defenseless Drew.

Drew thought for a moment, clearly used to Joshua's Stare of Death, then said, "I'm not doing anything after practice, so yeah, I can." He seemed to sigh at the idea, clearly having other plans, like passing out the moment he got home, but the Stare of Death convinced him it would be a better idea to go to the lesson.

I agreed personally. More Stares of Death would no doubt be Drew's if he said no.

Joshua nodded, seemingly satisfied, as he turned off his Stare of Death. "Your usual lesson time works," he said curtly, then turned back to his former target. "Renée. Staff meeting," he said, starting to get a little peeved.

"I'm coming," Renée said, but clearly had no intention of moving, as she took another bite of her sandwich.

"Renée." Joshua was now more than a little bit peeved. I was proud of Renee. If he had used that tone with me, I would already be at the staff meeting, having teleported there by magic. Two minutes ago, in fact.

"I told you. I'm coming," she said, waving her hand. "Go get Markus, or something."

"Markus is already there," Joshua said, nearly a growl.

Renée finally looked over at the table where Drake and Markus had been sitting. "Oh, fine. I'm coming," she said, finally standing up. By this time, Joshua was glaring daggers, and I thought it was all together quite amusing. She turned to the rest of us. "I gotta go peeps. Anyone want a tofurkey sandwich?" she asked, offering the sandwich to each of us in turn, and multiple people made faces at the idea.

I just shook my head. "I would, but I'm full from my peanut butter sandwich," I said, sighing slightly.

Renée shrugged, and turned to Joshua. "You want it?" she asked, grinning slightly at him, clearly knowing the answer.

He just looked at her, clearly disdainful. "It's fake meat," he said, his voice matching his face.

"So?"

"It's fake meat made out of soybeans."

"It's good. You should try it sometime," Renée commented, then turned back to the rest of us, no doubt to say goodbye to us, as Joshua said, rather emphatically, "No."

Then he sighed. "Renée. We have a meeting."

"I know, I'm coming," she said, looking at him, then looking back at us, rolling her eyes slightly. "Chao peeps."

I grin at her. "Adios!" I laughed slightly as I said it, and the rest of the people at the table said good-bye in various languages and forms. Renée turned to leave (again) and before she had even gone five steps, she turned around again, stopping.

"Hey Ari, I found my turquoise hair dye. I'll let you use it sometime!" she said, grinning at me as I gave her two thumbs up.

"Awesome!" I said, laughing slightly.

"Renée. Meeting. Now," Joshua said, and I made a face at him, which he seemed to either not notice or ignore. Which I wasn't adverse to...

Renée just rolled her eyes and turned back around. "I told you, I'm coming," she said with a sigh, and walked away.

I grinned as they walked off. Then I pulled out Drake's iPod, which had been all but begging me to play a prank on Drake with it.

Eliz looked over and saw the iPod in my hands. "Is that Drake's?" she asked, her voice wavering between motherly disapprovement and intense amusement. Then amusement won. "We have to do something with it," she added, grinning slightly.

I looked up and grinned again. "He has nothing but classical music on here. I vote we put rock on it," I said, laughing slightly.

Drew shook his head. "He'll be so pissed at you," he warned, and I shrugged. Wasn't like our dear uptight drum major didn't already hate me. Which just made this all the more amusing.

"I vote flute sectional at someone with a lot of good music's house," Olivia chimed in for one of the first times this meal.

Eliz grinned. "I have some good music," she said, then stood up. "Who has a car here, and can drive other people around?" Sam and Rachel both rose their hands, as did Drew, but Eliz just looked at him and rolled his eyes. "You don't count. You're my car," she said, then nodded. "Everyone can hitch a ride with someone else. We'll go right after rehearsal tonight, if that's alright with everyone!" she said, finishing with a laugh.

The two freshmen nodded, and presumably went to go call their parents to make sure it was alright.

Oh, I couldn't wait for the day to end... and we still had two more parts of rehearsal to get through!

* * *

After rehearsal, we all filed out to the cars. I waved at Drake as I walked past him. "I don't need a ride tonight," I said in a singsong voice, grinning over at him. He just shrugged, and went back to his car, and I followed Rachel to her car. It was just me and her, as Emily and Olivia had both gone with Sam, and Eliz had hitched a ride with Drew, who was coming with for some odd reason.

I grinned over at Rachel as I climbed in the passenger seat. "I really hope you don't drive like a maniac," I commented, looking over at her.

She laughed. "I don't think I do personally," she said, starting the car and pulling out after a quick glance behind her. "But I've been told otherwise by some people," she said, frowning slightly as she drove through the parking lot.

I wrinkled my nose. "That's what they all say," I said, trying to make my voice sound more ominous than it really was. However, from the undignified snort that came from Rachel, I don't think it worked. Shame. That would have been fun. Then we turned a corner, and I grabbed at the door with the slightest of squeaks. "That was just a little bit faster than I normally take corners," I said, putting a finger on my chin to ponder it for a moment. "Quite a bit faster in fact."

Rachel laughed. "At least I only do this when there's no snow on the roads. I tried it once with snow. Damn near missed my turn 'cause I just wouldn't turn fast enough because I was skidding," she said with a chuckle.

Shit, that's right. There was snow in Minnesota. I'd have to pull out my rusty snow-driving skills. Rusty as in never been used. "I hate snow," I said, shaking my head. "I hate hate hate it. It sticks to your pants, gets in your shoes, and melts down your shirt. I don't like winter in general to be exact," I added as I thought about it. "Much too cold."

"Wimp. You've been living down south for too long. These winters are nothing. Try going to Alaska. I'm sure that's colder than here," Rachel said, looking at me with a grin.

Little did she know...

"Been there, done that, have the t-shirt. I lived in Alaska for nine months. Six of those were with only a few hours of weak daylight. It got cold, but I didn't go outside. I wasn't in high school then, so I didn't have marching band to get me outside, and they had the sixth grade without recess, which was wonderful," I retorted, unable to hide the smirk from my face. "So yes, I believe that it is colder there. However, I believe that Minnesota wins in the wind department, which is what kills me. Gets through everything," I added with a flourish and a laugh.

Rachel looked over at me. "How many times have you moved?" she asked.

I shrugged. "A lot. Didn't ever stay in one place for very long. I will admit that Texas was my favorite though. I liked the warmth. Never got too horrifically cold, but enough for me to tell it was winter. I preferred it," I said, watching the road pass. I had liked Texas. I had friends there. Stupid Dad, making us move again.

Rachel made a face. "I've lived in Arden Lake all my life pretty much. Parents moved here when I was a tiny thing, and we haven't even moved houses," she said, then grinned at me. "But I bet you've seen a lot of things that I haven't," she said. I could hear the mischief in her voice, and I had to grin.

"Probably. Me and Mom tended to do that sort of stuff when Dad was working," I said, looking over at her. "Went to go see Yellowstone, the Grand Canyon, Statue of Liberty, the sights in D.C., and some other things. Haven't gone anywhere in the Midwest though. Haven't spent much time here for that," I said with a slight frown. There was Mount Rushmore, I knew that, but I'd have to find other things for my darling mother.

Rachel nodded, pulling up next to a curb. "We're at Eliz's now," she said, rather matter-of-factly, and turned off the car, then got out. "Come on then. You have Drake's iPod, after all. Can't do it without you," she said with a grin. I started to get out of the car, sliding out easily.

At least until my foot grabbed my other foot and decided to hold it hostage. That's my story, and I'm sticking to it as to why I tripped. Didn't fall flat on my face, but just barely.

"I'm okay!" I called, straightening up with a shake of my nonexistent hair, then started to walk up the lawn to the house.

We traipsed up to the door, and Rachel just opened it. I guess she's more used to coming over here than I thought. Ah well. Works for me. I don't have to ring the doorbell.

I stepped in to the house, and smiled. This was a nice house to have sectionals in. Not sparkling clean, but not messy either.

Rachel instantly ditched her shoes, and jumped up the stairs right in front of her two at a time. "Bloody girl is in too much of a hurry," I muttered to myself, slipping out of my own shoes and following her up the stairs.

As I stepped in to the room, I wondered how the hell we could fit this many people in such a small room. Then I realized that the room just seemed small because there were seven people in it.

And now for the fun part. I pulled Drake's iPod from my pocket, and placed it on the desk next to Eliz. "There you are," I said with a grin.

"Excellent. I've already picked out a few songs that will be essential to expose Drake Foley to," Eliz said with an evil looking grin. "Now how should we do this?" she asked, looking around.

Drew frowned. "We should probably keep a backup, so he can retrieve his music on it now," he pointed out. "We can't leave any classical on there, otherwise he won't even listen to anything we give him."

"Hence the backup," Olivia piped up from the bed.

"Exactly," Drew said, grinning.

Oh, this was absolutely perfect. Drake wouldn't know what hit him when he turned on his iPod and rock came on. He'd jump for sure.

Having hammered out an exact plan of giving Drake the backup via a flash drive that was too small to be overly useful, we set to work creating the list of music we would be giving him. Nothing would be off limits for this! It would be glorious. Glorious I say!

And funnier than hell, but that's not the point.

Who am I kidding? Of course that's the point.

* * *

The next morning, after I had made the hike to the high school, it was absurdly easy to slip Drake's iPod back among his other shit.

"Is the package in place?" Eliz asked me as I sauntered over towards the group of flutes.

I snorted. Oh, the urge, it was almost too strong for me. Almost too -

"That's what she said," Sam said with a laugh. I didn't say it. But I totally agreed, as did the rest of the flutes, as was evidenced by the giggling. At least I wasn't alone.

"Yes, Red Flautist, the package is in position. Move out!" I said, mimicking every spy movie I had ever seen, just to cause the flute section to burst in to laughter again.


	15. Absolute Confusion

Convergence

Chapter Thirteen: Absolute Confusion

"Drake," my father addressed me when I arrived home from practice. "Do you have your solo music with you?" I nodded, and reached for my backpack to take it out. As it was eight-thirty at night, I was absolutely exhausted, covered in sweat and in need of a shower, I handed the sheet music to him without arguing. At that moment, I was beyond caring; all I wanted to do was crawl into bed and sleep for three days. There was one day left of heat week. One day, and then I would be able to stay home and sleep. Except for my eight hour shift at work on Sunday and rehearsal again on Monday… So much for sleeping in.

After handing the sheet music to my father, I retired to my bedroom, set down my horn and backpack, and flopped face first onto my bed. "You know, that's probably not too good for the springs in your mattress," I heard the annoying voice of my sister say from the doorway.

"Right now, I could care less Renée," I answered through my mattress. "At this moment, I am beyond caring."

"Drake is beyond caring? What is the world coming to?" Renée overdramatically moaned.

"Renée, leave me alone to die in peace."

"But that's no fun! I can't leave you to die alone because it would suck the fun out of my day."

"My death is your version of fun?"

"In essence, yes."

"Go away, Renée," I told her. "Or I'll go get Markus to spoil all of your fun."

"At least he's funner to annoy," she said. "You know, I should go bug him just to spite you."

"You do that Renée."

She turned around and pranced down the hallway. "Hey Markus, whatcha doing?"

"Drake, I hate you," Markus called from his room.

"Better you than me," I called back. I rolled onto my back and stared at the ceiling. I was very, very tempted to sleep in my filth and take a shower in the morning. In fact, that was my plan- to sleep, wake up slightly early and take a shower, and then arrive to rehearsal slightly later than I usual. It's not like Mr. Stevens would notice if I was ten or fifteen minutes later than usual. That was what I was going to do.

That was, of course, until my father walked into my room. "Drake, it's time for your lesson," he informed me. I forgot about my lesson for this week. I had also forgotten that I had scheduled it for after rehearsal.

I reluctantly rolled off of my bed and went over to where I kept my lesson books. "What are we going to be working on today?" I asked. "Do I need my horn or trumpet?"

"Bring your horn," he said. "We're going to be working on your solo today." He turned around and walked away as I stood there, sort of stunned. In the span of two days, my father had gone from yelling at me for the solo to helping me with it. Something strange was going on. Knowing my father's nature, I was expecting him to make me work on it on my own and if I didn't do so well, he was going to pick me apart and make me beg him to help me before he would willingly work on it with me. Something was incredibly strange.

Not knowing whether or not it was a positive development, I grabbed my horn and made my way towards my father's lesson room. "Drake, Markus is being boring," Renée complained, bounding up to me. "Make him be interesting for once in his life."

"Sorry Renée, but I've got my lesson to get to," I shrugged. "You'll have to convince Markus to be interesting on your own."

"You're really having your lesson after an entire day of rehearsal?" she asked. "I would have thought that you would make it up another time, like next week or on Sunday, rather than after spending eleven hours in the sun."

"I really didn't have any better options," I told her. "In all honesty, it's probably better to get it over with now."

"What are you working on?"

"My solo in the ballad."

"Really?" she said, surprised. "I would have thought that Dad would make you work on that on your own."

"I guess not. He's the one who suggested it."

"Ooh, this'll be funner to watch than bugging Markus. I'm coming with you," she said, following me.

"Sorry Renée, but you're not going to be sitting in on my lesson. Now go do something productive," I told her.

"Aww, do I have to?" she asked.

"No, but go do something that doesn't involve following me around. Go watch TV or something."

"Hokay. That I can do," she said, wandering off. I sighed and made my way to the basement where my father taught lessons. When I arrived in the lesson room, I put my horn together and waited for further instruction. I wasn't exactly sure what he wanted me to do, so I figured that it would be best to wait.

"Play your solo," he told me, sitting down in a chair and holding the sheet music. I brought up my horn, took a deep breath, and played the solo from memory, attempting to play the dynamics and articulations correctly. Once I finished, I brought my horn back down.

He sat in silence for a moment, making me more nervous than it should have. "Is the most recent version of the solo?" he asked.

"Yes, it's from earlier this week when Mr. Stevens gave us updated parts," I answered, swallowing hard.

He looked down at the music and said, "Play it again." I played the solo again, bringing my horn down afterwards. He looked back up at me. "Let me see your horn," he said and I handed it to him. "You can sit down if you want," he said, looking over my instrument. I sat down on the extra chair in the room as my father examined my valves. "Has Stevens been working with you and Lauren on conducting?"

"Not very much," I answered, not exactly sure what he was expecting. "Mr. Stevens said that he was trying to find someone to help us with our conducting, but I'm not sure if that went anywhere."

"Did he mention who the person was going to be?" my father asked, looking up temporarily from my horn.

I shook my head. "Not that I can remember," I said.

He handed my horn back to me. "Play your solo," he said. I played it again and waited for him to start. He was silent for a moment before he started. "Your articulation in the fifth measure is a bit strong. The sixteenth notes should be slurred rather than articulated and you need to put more air into the piano notes," he said. I was expecting more comments about my playing, but it didn't come. "Play it again."

I played it again, brought down my horn, and waited for my father's comments. He looked at me, then handed my sheet music back. "You can go," he said, turning back to the notebook that he kept his lesson plans in. I grabbed my horn case and headed out of the room as fast as I could. Once I successfully made it to the kitchen I glanced at my watch. I still had fifteen minutes left of my lesson. This was very unusual, seeing as my father was infamous for keeping his students over on their lessons. I was putting away my horn when Renée came bounding down the stairs. She gave me a strange look when she saw me at the kitchen table. "You're done already?" she asked.

"Yeah," I said. "I wasn't expecting it either."

"Well, if he let you out early that's gotta mean one thing," Renée said.

"What would that be?"

"That he approves of your playing of the solo."

I stared at her. "I doubt that that's it."

"Can you think of any other reasons?" she asked, continuing before I could answer. "If he thought you were doing a bad job, he would have kept you in there until he had explained everything that you were doing wrong. He let you out early; ergo, he thinks you're doing a good job."

I shook my head. "It still doesn't seem like that would happen."

"It doesn't," she admitted. "But I can't think of anything else that it would be." She grabbed an apple out of the basket of fruit on our counter. "You'll just have to get used to it, Drakey-poo. Dad sometimes does unexpected things. I think it's just to throw us off." I grabbed my horn and started heading towards the stairs. "Where are you going?"

"I'm going to take a shower," I said over my shoulder. "I'm starting to ferment."

Renée shrugged. "I guess I'll have to go bug Markus again." I heard Markus slam his door shut. "Come on Markus, it'll be fun!"

"I doubt that," Markus called from his room. "Go bug someone else."

"But the only one left is Dad and he'll eat my soul."

"Leave him alone, Renée," I told her, making my way up the stairs. "He has to put up with you enough already."

"But you can never have too much time with Renée!"

"That can be argued," Markus called.

"I hate you both."

"We hate you too, Renée," Markus answered. I laughed, going in my room and putting down my french horn before flopping on my bed.

* * *

"WAKEY WAKEY DRAKEY-POO!"

I shot up in my bed, being awakened by a shrill voice yelling in my ear. I turned to see Renée grinning, holding some of my clothes and a towel. "What the heck are you doing in my room?" I asked.

She looked at her watch. "You have twenty minutes before we're leaving. In that time, you need to take a shower, eat breakfast, and get yourself and your crap outside. I'd get going if I were you."

I jumped out of bed and grabbed my clothes and towel from Renée. "Why didn't you wake me up earlier?"

"You looked so peaceful," she answered. "And I knew you were going to be mad at me any way that this happened to turned out, so I decided to let you sleep."

I rolled my eyes at her before practically running to the shower. I took a quick shower, put my contacts in and was getting dressed when I realized that Renée hadn't given me a shirt. I was making my way back to my room to grab one when I ran into her. "Why aren't you wearing a shirt?" she asked.

"Because you didn't give me one," I said, pushing past her to get into my room. I dug through my dresser and grabbed the first t-shirt I saw.

"I could have sworn that I gave you one," she said.

"Apparently it got lost on the journey," I retorted pulling my shirt over my head and grabbing my things. "Don't we need to get going?"

"Yeah, we do, don't we?" she asked, stopping in the hallway in front of me.

"Yes, now move!" I pushed her towards the stairs, trying to get her to move. Once we were down the stairs, inhaled my breakfast, and made my way towards the door where Renée was waiting. "Ready to go?" she asked.

"Yes," I answered and she handed me the keys. Ten minutes later, I pulled the car into the parking lot by the band room. I quickly grabbed my stuff out of the back seat and began to head towards the band room. "Lock up the car," I told Renée over my shoulder as I started towards the band room. I followed one of the bass drummers into the band room and put down my things in my usual spot. "Where did you go?" Mr. Stevens asked when he noticed that I was setting down my stuff.

"I just got here," I told him, knowing what was coming next.

He glanced at the clock. "You mean you're actually getting here at a normal time?" he said, looking shocked. "That hasn't happened since your sister was drum major."

I rolled my eyes at him. "What are we starting with today?" I asked.

"We'll be starting with coordination," he said. "We'll be doing a full hornline warm-up today. I'm actually going to have you and Lauren go with Joshua for a bit to work on your conducting." I must have given him a sour look. "Don't look at me like that. You and I both know that the two of you need to work on your conducting technique, and while it isn't the best situation for you, he knows what he's talking about. He and your mother were the best drum majors in DCI when they marched together."

"I'd just prefer it if it was someone else."

"I know, but you're just going to have to deal with it. We don't always get what we want," Mr. Stevens told me. "For example, I wanted to go to Hawaii with my girlfriend for three weeks this summer, but I had to be here for heat week. So deal with it, Foley."

"It's not my fault that you couldn't go on vacation this summer."

"It's not my fault that you have issues with Joshua. So deal." I glared at him. He ignored it. "Nice shirt, by the way."

I looked down to see what I was wearing. It was my mellophone section shirt from when I marched with the Crusaders. "I haven't worn this shirt in years," I muttered.

"Any particular reason that you decided to wear it today?" Mr. Stevens asked, overhearing me.

"I overslept and ended up grabbing the first shirt I could find," I told him. "At least it wasn't my section shirt from freshman year."

"What did Elena do?"

"It was pink and sparkly," I answered, shuddering.

"They were _magenta_, not _pink_." I turned to see Elena behind me. "Come on, Foley. Get your colors straight."

"They're from the same color family. It's basically the same thing," I told her. "There were more guys than girls in the section; why did we have to have pink shirts?"

"Because I wanted to make you all suffer," she answered. "I found it incredibly amusing to watch four guys running around in pink shirts."

"So you'll admit that they were pink?"

"I meant _magenta_," she scowled. "Stop trying to confuse me."

"But I enjoy it so much," I told her. She glared at me.

"End the love fest, you two," Mr. Stevens told us. "It's time to start rehearsal. Go set up outside, Foley. The band will be out in a minute." He paused, then started again. "Take Jaahns with you, too."

Elena put her arm around my shoulder. "Come on freshman buddy. This is gonna be fun."

"I doubt that," I told her, being forced to follow.

"You never know until you try, Drakey-poo."

"You've been hanging out with my sister again, haven't you?" I said, glaring at her for the nickname that Renée had given me.

"I have every right to hang out with her. She's been my best friend for almost ten years."

"And you both are certifiably insane."

"That too."

We stopped at the band shed and I opened the door. "After you," I said, signaling for her to go in.

"I would have never thought you to be a gentleman," Elena commented. "Since you can really be a bastard sometimes."

"You've met my family," I told her, turning on the lights and opened the garage door so I could get out the podium. "Spend enough time with them and you'd end up the same way."

"Renée ended up okay," she said.

"Have you met my sister?" I asked her, grabbing the podiums. "She's the definition of insanity."

"Yeah, but it's better than you."

"Could you go get my horn out of the band room?" I asked her. "I'd rather not have to go back up to the band room after I've set everything up."

"Sure," she answered. "You're just doing this to avoid the flutes, aren't you?"

I stopped for a moment. "Now that you mention it, could you bring me my water bottle and backpack too?"

She laughed. "I suppose I could do that for you, but you owe me."

"Just tell me when," I said. She turned back to go to the band room and I grabbed the podiums. Once the podiums were down at the field, I saw that the band was heading towards the field. Eliz was heading towards me. "Where were you Foley? You were supposed to take our stuff down to the field," she said, walking up to me.

"I'm sorry Eliz, but Mr. Stevens' orders take priority over yours," I answered. "I was told to set up the field and by the time I would get back to the band room to get your things, you would be late for warm-ups." Eliz glared at me and then turned to head to her section. After a quick basics session, Mr. Stevens set up a warm-up arc and told Lauren and I to go with my father for work on our conducting. "Drake?" Lauren asked as we were walking over to where my father was waiting for us.

"Yes, Lauren?"

"Are you feeling okay? You look a little bit pale," she said.

"I'm fine," I answered. "I just wasn't expecting this today."

"Neither was I. I really don't know what to expect." She paused. "Do you know what we'll be doing?"

I shrugged. "Not really. Last year Mr. Stevens worked with me on my conducting because Joshua refused to work with me on it. He knows what he's doing, but be prepared to take some pretty severe criticism."

She laughed. "I take lessons with him, remember? I think I'll be able to deal with it."

We arrived at the spot where my father was standing, looking over a copy of the score. He looked up when we arrived. "Stand over there facing each other," he told us, closing the score. Once Lauren and I had positioned ourselves, he walked over to us and continued. "You are going to take turns conducting. When the other is conducting you need to take note as to their conducting style. While both of you have very similar styles of conducting, there are some differences that could lead to issues in the band. Drake, you can conduct first. Start at tempo 160. I'll let you know when to change tempos."

I began conducting at tempo. My father told me different tempos a few times and then told Lauren to conduct for a while. After Lauren was finished, he began to speak again. "Lauren, what did you notice about Drake's conducting style?" he asked.

"Well," Lauren began. "His conducting pattern is easy to read and his ictus is well defined, but there wasn't much rebound on his beats. While that is helpful at faster tempos, at slower tempos it was harder to tell where the subdivision was."

"Good," my father said. "Drake, you are holding a lot of tension in your wrists, which makes it difficult for others to read your subdivision at slower tempos. What did you notice about Lauren's conducting?"

"Her conducting at slower tempos is easier to read than it is at faster tempos," I answered. "It is easy to tell the subdivision at slower tempos because she is using a good amount of rebound, but when it gets to faster tempos it becomes difficult to tell where beat is."

"Lauren, your problem is the opposite of Drake's," he said. "At faster tempos you are not putting enough tension in your wrists and using too much rebound, which makes it difficult to read." He paused for a moment before continuing. "Drake, I need you to-"

"JOSHUA, I NEED MY DRUM MAJORS BACK!" Mr. Stevens yelled from the practice field.

My father looked slightly exasperated and seemed like he needed to tell me something, but he shook his head. "You can go," he told us, going back to his score. I wanted to ask him about what he was going to tell me, but Lauren grabbed my arm and gave me a "we should really get out of here" look.

* * *

After assisting the flutes with lunch I sat down at my usual table, hoping that for once I could have a peaceful lunch without any interruptions. Unfortunately, that was not the case. I was halfway through my turkey substitute sandwich (tofurkey I believe Renée calls it- she had packed my lunch that morning) when Cecilia Maybelle came bounding up to my table. "Do you need something?" I asked, looking up when she arrived.

She shrugged. "Just wondering why you weren't listening to your ipod like you usually do."

"You probably don't care, but I'm not listening to it because I can't find it at the moment," I said, giving her a stern look, or attempting to.

"I'd recheck your backpack if I were you," she told me before walking off. I watched her go before I grabbed my backpack and checked the pocket that I usually kept my iPod in. Surprisingly, my iPod was in the exact spot that it had put it a few days before. It hadn't been there the day before, and I hadn't moved it. That made me suspicious. I looked over my iPod- nothing seemed unusual about it. It looked exactly the same as when I had "misplaced" it. In need of my music more than anything else, I put my earphones in and turned on my iPod. I looked through my playlist, and finding everything the same as before, I selected a Bach cantata and pressed play.

I was mistaken.

I jumped when my iPod started playing what was certainly not a Bach cantata and looked at my playlist. I selected another song, which was also not what was listed on the playlist. I looked over the rest of my music, all of it being different songs listed as my songs that had previously been classical music. Instead it was… rock, I think. It sounded a lot like the songs that Markus listened to, when he wasn't listening to death metal. I took out my earphones, turned off my iPod, and banged my head on the lunch table.

"Drake, are you okay?" I heard Lauren asking, sounding concerned at my strange actions.

"I am in desperate need of a vacation," I told her, not moving. She didn't respond and I figured that she had walked back to her lunch table. I sat back up and ended up glancing over at the flutes, who all seemed to be stifling laughs and looked oddly suspicious.

I was certainly in desperate need of a vacation.

* * *

Afternoon block went well overall. We got through coordinating about half of the closer, leaving the other half of it for Monday's rehearsal. There were some slight issues with flagpoles swinging too close to peoples' heads, but after some compromise it ended well. All in all, it had been a good week. Drill learning wise, that is. In terms of my sanity, not so much. I ended up being hated, stalked and incredibly creeped out; not hated but pretty much a slave to the flute section; lost my iPod, then had it miraculously return filled with completely different music; got yelled at for getting the solo, then was ignored for it, then got slight approval though I'm not sure on that one; and finally, was told by Markus that I was the lucky one. Me? Lucky? I'm thinking there's something wrong with his thought process. Maybe he's just crazy. Maybe I'm crazy. I have no idea.

I returned the podiums to their usual spot in the shed and brought the long rangers back to the band room where the rest of the band was gathering. After plugging in the long rangers, I returned to my usual spot to see if Mr. Stevens had any announcements. "So," he started. "Great week of work- we got a lot of things done, but there's still a ways to go. Remember that we've got rehearsal on Monday. I'm done for the day, but a couple of our other instructors have something for you."

When Mr. Stevens turned to Renée, I knew something was wrong. She stepped onto the podium like she had so many times when she was drum major, but this time, I had a feeling something crazy was going to happen. "Since we all had such a great week of rehearsal, Elena and I figured you'd all like to do something fun rather than something boring so…" She turned to Elena, who was standing over by the band room's sound system. If Elena and Renée had planned something together, I was very worried. When the two of them got together, strange things happened, usually to me. Elena pressed a button on the sound system and the Cha Cha Slide started playing through the speakers. "Since we had such an awesome week, it's time for a dance party!" Renée yelled out over the music, hopping off of the podium and starting to dance. The band followed suit and I stood there, slightly shocked at what was happening.

Markus walked up next to me. "Ah, so Renée was actually successful in convincing Stevens to let her do this?"

"You knew about this?" I asked, looking over at him.

"Yeah, I was the one that Renée and Elena dragged into helping them set this up. I was the lucky one who got to move all of the chairs," he explained. "You're not dancing?"

"No," I answered quickly. "I don't dance."

"What about at Mom's wedding last year? That looked like dancing to me."

"I don't dance _well_. When I am forced to, I will dance, but I prefer not to."

"Then I would avoid Renée, since I have a feeling that she'll be dragging everyone into dancing," he told me. "Or you could always dance with Elena."

"Why would I do that?" I asked him, wondering what he was hinting at.

"Well, she's a nice girl and the two of you seem to get along well together. I was just making a suggestion," he shrugged.

"Elena and I are just friends. I seriously doubt that it will ever be anything beyond that," I answered. "What do you know about that sort of stuff anyways? You don't have a girlfriend."

"That's what you think," he smirked. "I have spent the past few summers in drum corps, after all."

"You have a girlfriend?" I asked, slightly shocked. "I'm assuming she's from the Crusaders."

"You assume correctly," he answered. "She's in the color guard. Her name's Katherine Delzer."

"And you felt that you shouldn't share said information with us?"

"You think that you're the only one that is worried about what Dad thinks of them? I would have told you and the annoying one, but she'd have let it slip to Dad, and he'd insist on meeting her. I don't think that Kate could handle that," Markus responded. "We haven't been dating that long, so I was avoiding forcing her to meet the messed up family."

"I can't really blame you," I answered. "Seeing as what happened last time you dated."

"Yeah, I don't think Elena ever got over that," Markus said.

"Well, you did kind of end up leaving her for the vultures."

"I was going to jump in and assist her, but I didn't know what to say," he said defensively. "You've never brought a girl home to meet Dad, so you don't know exactly how intimidating it is, which is why I'm delaying bringing Kate to meet the family."

"Who's Kate?" a voice questioned from Markus' left. It was Renée.

"No one," Markus answered quickly, turning slightly red.

"It's gotta be someone special if you won't tell me who it is," Renée reasoned. "Drake, does Markus have a girlfriend?"

"You're not pulling me into this," I told her. "Ask Markus yourself."

"You're no fun," she pouted. "Is this mystery girl your girlfriend, Markus?"

He glared at her. "…Yes."

"What's her name? Where's she from?" Renée asked quickly. "Have you met her family?"

"Her name is Katherine Delzer, she went to Mirandola High School, and I have met her family," Markus answered. "She has two sisters and a brother, I met her in the Crusaders because she almost killed me with a flagpole and I mistook her for both of her sisters."

"How the hell did you manage that?" Elena asked, inserting herself in the conversation, standing to my right.

"Kate and her sisters Eli and Beth are identical triplets."

"So how do you know that you're dating the right one?" Renée asked.

"They all act differently. Plus Eli played snare and Beth played baritone."

"So when do I get to meet her?"

"Whenever I gain the courage to bring her home to meet Dad."

"So basically never, right?" Renée said, grinning. Markus glared at her and she ignored it. "Anyways, you two need to participate in the dance party. So come on."

Markus rolled his eyes. "Fine," he answered. "I'll participate if Drake does."

"I don't dance," I told Renée. "I refuse to participate."

"What did you call what you did at Mom's wedding last summer? If that wasn't dancing, I don't know what it was."

"I don't dance well. You're not going to get me to go out there."

"So basically we spent all that money last year learning to swing dance and you're not going to use what you learned?" Renée pouted.

"This isn't swing dancing music," I reminded her.

"But if a swing dancing song comes on, you'll go out there?"

"I don't have a partner."

"I was in your swing dance class, remember?" Elena said. "I'll be your partner. We were partners for that, weren't we?"

I hesitated. There was no way I was going to get out of this. "Fine, I'll do it. But only if a swing dancing song comes on."

"Then Markus'll dance with me, right?" Renée asked, looking at Markus.

"Sure, I'll do it," he said. Renée and Elena skipped off, no doubt to change the playlist that we were listening to. "I thought that you were going to hold up longer than that," Markus said, seeming a little peeved.

"Well you didn't hold up at all," I told him. "'I'll do it Drake does' isn't exactly the best defense. It puts a lot of pressure on me."

"Well, I thought you were going to last longer than that. Then I could have found a way to escape."

"Sure, leave me behind. Great brother you are." I laughed as Markus grinned sheepishly.

A few songs later a Big Band tune came on a Renée and Elena returned. "Come on, lazy bums, it's time to earn your keep," Renée said, no doubt enjoying it. Renée grabbed Markus and Elena grabbed my arm. "You ready?" Elena asked.

"Aren't you going to drag Drew out here too?" I asked. "You did teach us the basics of swing dancing when you were section leader."

"I did, didn't I?" she said, turning to where Drew was standing with Eliz. "Come on Drew, all of my mellophones know how to swing dance," she called to Drew. "Bring Eliz out here."

Drew looked at Eliz. "But I don't know how to swing dance," Eliz said, looking back at Drew.

"Then have Drew teach you how," Elena answered. "I spent all of that precious sectional time teaching them how to swing dance; they might as well use it!"

"You could have used the sectional time to actually work on our music," I pointed out.

Elena elbowed me in the ribs. "Shut up and dance, Foley." I grabbed her hand and we started to dance. As I had spent three months the previous year taking swing dance lessons, dancing had come back pretty quickly. Markus, Renée, and I had all been required to take swing dance lessons before the wedding, and it just so happened that Elena had been taking the same class. Elena and I always ended up being dance partners, since we were approximately the same height. "See, it isn't so bad, is it?" Elena asked, looking at me as I led her into a twirl.

"I suppose not," I admitted. "I just would prefer to not dance."

"Why not? Are you afraid that everyone here will get the wrong idea of you?"

"It's not that. It's…" I trailed off.

"It's what, Drake?"

"It just doesn't feel right. Like I'm doing something wrong," I said.

"Why would you say that?" she asked. "You're doing fine."

I shook my head. "I don't know."

She rolled her eyes and grinned. "Whatever. I know what'll distract you- let's do a flip."

"Oh no, I'd probably end up injuring someone."

"You don't have enough confidence in yourself. Just do it, Foley," she said. I looked around to make sure no one was too close before pulling Elena up into a flip. Unfortunately, things didn't turn out quite as planned when Elena's foot caught on my shoulder and I ended up flat on my back with the wind knocked out of me and the back of my head throbbing. "Ohmigosh, are you okay?" Elena asked, somehow managing to still be on her feet.

"Once I start breathing again, I'll let you know," I said, which led me into a fit of coughing. I sat up, putting a hand on my head. "That was painful."

"Can you breathe?"

"I think so, but the world is spinning in a counter-clockwise fashion."

"I think we need to get you home," Elena told me. "I'll drive you, since you are definitely not in the position to drive yourself." She supported me and helped me stand up, leading me over to where my backpack was. At least I think that was what was happening.

"If you're driving me, you need to give my keys to Renée so that she can get home," I said, attempting to get the world to stop spinning. I was unsuccessful.

"Where are they?"

"They're in my backpack in the pocket with my ipod," I answered.

"Which would be what pocket?" Elena asked.

"The smallest one."

She helped me sit down on one of the few remaining chairs in the room before digging in my backpack to get my keys. Renée and Markus made their way over to us, having noticed what had happened. "Is he okay?" Renée asked.

"I think he hit his head," Elena answered. "I'm gonna take him home, so you'll need these." She handed Renée the car keys.

"Are you sure?" Renée asked. "I can always drive him home."

"It's my fault he got hurt, and you should enjoy this," Elena said, gesturing to the dance. "It was _your_ idea, not mine."

"If you're sure…" Renée and Markus walked back to the middle of the band room. Elena shouldered my backpack before helping me stand back up and escorting me out of the band room and over to her car. "I feel like I'm going to be sick," I said, the spinning making me more than slightly nauseous.

"Just close your eyes," Elena reassured. "You'll be fine."

I closed my eyes, but it didn't help. I stopped walking, bent over, and vomited in the grass next to the sidewalk. "That's not good," I noted, still feeling sick.

Elena quickly ushered me to her car, sitting me down in the front seat and instructing me lean out the open door if I felt like a had to vomit again. "I'm gonna go get Mr. Stevens," she said before running back to the band room. She returned a few minutes later with Mr. Stevens and a bucket. Elena handed me the bucket just in time for me to vomit again. "Take him home and tell Joshua what happened," Mr. Stevens told Elena. "He'll probably want to take him to a doctor. And tell him to call me and let me know what happens."

"Are you sure that you won't get in trouble for this?" Elena asked.

"Yeah, they both signed the legal waiver before the season started, so I'm not liable for anything," Mr. Stevens answered. "Plus this happened after rehearsal, so I wouldn't be liable anyways." He turned to me. "Now don't get puke all over Elena's car, Drake. It looks pretty new, so I wouldn't want that on my conscience." I nodded, and then proceeded to vomit again. "I'd hate to see you drunk, Drake."

Elena said a quick goodbye before hopping into the driver's seat and starting the car. "I'll have you home soon, okay?"

I nodded. "Thanks," I said, then vomited once again.


	16. Famous Last Words

Convergence

Chapter Fourteen: Famous Last Words

When Monday came, I found myself once again sitting on my chair next to the podium. I had to have Renée drive me to rehearsal since I had found myself with a splitting headache for two days. That morning I had woken up feeling horrible, but because I needed to be at rehearsal to conduct, I went anyways. If there had been one thing that I had learned during my year marching drum corps, it was that no matter how crappy you felt or how sunburnt or tired or whatever, you needed to be at rehearsal. So I went, despite the fact that my head felt like it was going to split. Of course the fact that I had gotten a concussion on Saturday didn't help. Elena had driven me home to find my father standing in the driveway. Before she could turn off the car he had ordered her to drive to the hospital. I laid in the backseat on the drive there. I had stopped vomiting, probably because I didn't have anything left in my stomach, but my head was throbbing. Elena drove and Father sat in the front seat. It was quiet for most of the ride, but as we got closer to the hospital Elena asked, "Stevens told you what happened, right?"

"Yes, he called shortly after you left the school," Father answered. "He explained what had happened."

"And you aren't angry about it?" Elena asked.

"No. It was an accident, so there really isn't a reason to blame either of you," Father said. "I have enough sense to know when to be angry with my children, Elena."

"It doesn't always seem that way."

"What do you mean?"

"How about when Drake got that solo?" she asked. "Getting angry at him for that didn't seem to make much sense."

Seeing as I was lying in the backseat, I figured he wasn't going to answer. Maybe it was because I looked like I was out of it, he answered. "I was angry with him for that," he said. "Now that I've heard him play it, it doesn't really matter to me anymore."

"That doesn't sound like you."

"While I would have much preferred for Drew to play the solo, he isn't at a high enough level yet to properly play it. While I'm sure he would do a decent job at it, his playing isn't at the same caliber as Drake's is. It's easy enough to tell that in their lessons. Over the past few years of teaching both of them I've noticed that Drew's motivation to succeed with his playing doesn't lie solely within himself. The reason that he came to me in the first place was that Drake was placed in a higher band and on first part in marching band during their freshman year. The reason that Drew is motivated to work is because he wants to be better than Drake." He paused for a moment before he continued. "Drake, however, has other motivations to practice and become a better player. By watching how the two of them have progressed over the past three years, you can tell that while Drew has a passion for music, it isn't necessarily what he wants to be doing as a career. Just by watching his progress you can tell that he has other ambitions. While Drew has made significant progress since I began teaching him, Drake's progress has been far more significant because he doesn't just practice to become better than someone else. You can tell that he's searching for something more than that."

"And how exactly can you tell that?" Elena asked sounding skeptical.

"I used to be the same way."

That threw me off. I wasn't expecting my father to say that at all. I didn't have time to think about it however, since Elena pulled the car to a stop. "We're here," she said, before looking back at me. "Do you think that you can walk?"

"Maybe," I said, sitting up. A wave of nausea hit me and I decided to lie back down. "Maybe not."

"I'll go get a wheelchair," Father said, leaving the car.

Elena looked at me. "Sorry about all of this," she said.

"It's not your fault," I said, closing my eyes as the nausea came back. "It was an accident."

"Were you listening on the ride here?" she asked.

"Not really," I lied. "I was paying attention to other things. Your ceiling's kind of dirty, by the way." My father showed up with a wheelchair and we headed into the hospital. After examining me and asking questions about how I got the injury, I was told that I had a concussion and that I staying home and resting was the best thing to do. I stayed on the couch at home the next day rather than going to work and wanted to do the same when I woke up with the same massive headache in the morning, but I knew that I needed to go to rehearsal. As I sat in my chair next to the podium Lauren walked up to me. "Drake, do you know what the schedule is for rehearsal today?" she asked.

"No idea," I answered, willing my headache to go away.

"Shouldn't we go ask Mr. Stevens what we're supposed to start with?"

"Yeah, sure."

She paused, probably taken aback at the fact that I didn't know and really didn't care what would be happening with rehearsal. "Drake, are you okay?" she asked.

"I'm not really feeling well today," I answered. "If you want to go ask Mr. Stevens what he wants us to start with then go ahead, but right now I'd much rather sit here." Lauren looked lost as to what to do, but I didn't care. The pain that I was in kept me preoccupied.

We didn't have to wait long for Mr. Stevens to show up. "Drake, you look like shit," he said when he walked out of his office.

"That'll happen when you have a splitting headache for three days," I said.

"Concussion?"

"Yes."

He laughed. "I'm sure you're going to have fun today, then," he said. "We're starting with coordination this morning."

Aside from my throbbing headache, rehearsal went well. We were able to coordinate the rest of the show, as well as reviewing the rest of the show and cleaning part of the opener. My headache made it slightly difficult to deal with the sound, so I had to wear my earplugs to be able to put up with the noise for the rest of rehearsal. I had gotten them during my summer with the Crusaders- every member had been given a pair of high fidelity earplugs to wear during rehearsals so we all didn't go deaf by the end of the summer. I usually didn't wear them when I was conducting, but today I couldn't function without them. I spent water breaks sitting on my podium, which I did even though I didn't like it. Associating with the different sections was what I wanted to do in order to not fit so nicely into the Foley family stereotype, but I just didn't feel like it. I felt like going home and going to bed, but I knew that I needed to be there.

As rehearsal was wrapping up Drew walked over to me. "You feeling okay, Drake?" he asked unexpectedly.

"Yeah," I answered. "Why do you ask?"

"You just seemed a little off today," he answered. "Kinda made me wonder if I should reschedule my lesson for today."

"Why would you have to reschedule your lesson?" I asked.

"Because most of the time when you look like shit, it means that Joshua's being an ass and I should run for my life."

I stopped walking and looked over at him. "What are you talking about?"

"Come on, Drake," he said, looking over at me. "The only time that you look like that is when Joshua has given you a particularly hard ass pounding. I've seen you like that enough times to know what it means. It means that Joshua is in a bad mood and my lessons are going to go horribly."

"It has nothing to do with my father, Drew," I answered. "I woke up with a splitting headache this morning and going through rehearsal today didn't make it much better. That's all."

"I was just checking, Drake. If my lesson today is going to suck, I'd at least like to know about first."

"I'll let you know after my lesson, then."

He gave me a strange look. "I didn't know that you had lessons today," he said.

"I was never given a specific lesson time at the beginning of the summer, so Father fits me in whenever he has an opening," I explained. "There were a couple of cancellations for today, so he's fitting me in then."

Eliz came up behind Drew. "You ready to go?" she asked.

"Yeah, I just need to put away my horn," he answered Eliz before turning back to me. "See you later." I nodded back and he and Eliz headed back up to the school. I grabbed the podiums and my stuff and brought it up to the shed to put it away. I was closing up the shed when Cecilia Maybelle came up to me. "You wanna have that march-off, Drake?" she asked.

I sighed, picking up my horn case and water bottle. "Today really isn't a day to be messing with me," I said, walking back to the band room.

"Why not?" she asked, following closely behind me.

"It just isn't, okay?"

"Why?"

"Because."

"Because why?"

"Because I said so."

"That only works on four year olds."

"Funny, I thought I was talking to one," I said, pulling open the door to the band room. "Now go away."

"Why should I?"

"Do you want to run laps until you vomit?" I asked, turning around to look her in the eye. "Because that can very easily be arranged."

"Not really," she answered, shrugging. "I just like yanking your chain. You're fun to mess with."

"That's great. Go away." I turned away from her and headed back to where I had left my things at the beginning of rehearsal. I was digging through my backpack to find where I had put the car keys when there was a tap on my shoulder. "What?" I half-yelled, really not wanting to be bothered.

"Um…" It was Lauren. In a way I felt bad for snapping at her. "Stevens wants to talk to us before you leave."

"Yeah, just give me a minute," I said. I found my keys and headed over to where Renée was standing. "Lauren and I need to talk to Mr. Stevens, so wait for me before you leave," I told her, holding out the keys.

"I actually won't be riding home with you," she said. "I'm helping with a low brass sectional, so I'll be staying here for a bit."

I slipped the keys into my pocket and went to Mr. Stevens' office, closing the door behind me. "Take a seat, Drake," Mr. Stevens said and I took a seat next to Lauren. "As you both know we have the district preview show this weekend. This will be the first time that we perform the show in uniform and in front of an audience, so it will be slightly nerve-wracking, especially for the rookies. I'm going to need the two of you to set an example. Can the two of you agree to do that?" Lauren and I nodded in response. "Good. That was about it." I started to get up but he stopped me. "There is one more thing. I need to measure your arms."

"What?" I asked.

"Your arm. Both of you hold out your right arm." He took out a tape measure and measured from the inside of my elbow to the middle of my third finger. He measured the same thing on Lauren before saying, "Okay, you can head out now."

"What was that for?" I asked.

"Oh, nothing important. You'll find out soon," he answered, writing down the numbers on a piece of paper before turning back to his computer.

"Do you know what that was about, Drake?" Lauren asked me once we have left Mr. Stevens' office.

"I have no idea," I answered, grabbing my things. Walking out to my car I thought back to what Drew had said earlier. I had forgotten about my lesson until Drew had mentioned it. I hadn't spoken to my father since Saturday, so I didn't know what to expect from my lessons. Because of that, I really hoped that my father was in a good mood otherwise I was looking forward to a few miserable hours ahead.

* * *

I went to my lessons that afternoon to find my father in a not so pleasant mood. Because of his foul mood the entirety of my lesson was spent on what my father liked to refer to as rudiments, meaning that I spent half an hour working on scales, arpeggios, and other fun things of the sort. While I knew that it was essential to work on those things in order to be a better musician, I still hated those days in lessons. They usually happened once every two months and I knew that it was coming up, but I still hated it. He didn't say anything to me as I grabbed my music and horn and made to leave the room. Instead he just sat at his desk, looking over his lesson plans for the rest of the day. I knew that it shouldn't mean anything; it was what he usually did after he was done with my lesson, but it still made worry for some reason.

"Drake?"

I turned to find Eliz and Cecilia Maybelle sitting in the waiting room with Drew. I knew that Drew had the lesson slot after mine, but I was not expecting Eliz and Cecilia Maybelle to be with him. "What are you doing here?" Eliz asked me.

"I just got finished with my horn lesson," I answered. "I would think that asking what the two of you are doing here would be a more appropriate question."

"We're waiting for Drew to take his," Eliz answered, sounding like it was something that would be obvious. "We've got a sectional at Rachel's house in a bit and Drew wanted to come with, but he had his lesson this afternoon so we're waiting for him."

"That explains you," I said to Eliz. I turned to Cecilia Maybelle. "What are you doing here?"

"I just needed a ride," she shrugged. "It was either this or walk, and I really didn't wanna walk."

"Whatever," I said, walking over to the chair where my horn case was. Drew walked over to me. "How was it?" he asked.

"Nothing out of the ordinary," I answered, starting to empty out my valves. "I had rudiments today, but I doubt that he'd make you do them too. You've got nothing to worry about."

"Thanks," Drew said, heading into Father's lesson room. I finished emptying the spit out of my horn and started doing some cool down exercises. Once I finished putting my horn away I looked over to find Eliz and Cecilia Maybelle looking over some of the pictures on the wall. Father had put up some of the photos from his seasons of drum corps as well as photos from the seasons of corps that Markus, Renée, and I had marched. There weren't any individual photos of me or Renée (it was hard to find a good photo when you had a mellophone or tuba bell in your face), just group photos of the Crusaders from the years that we had marched. I knew that Eliz knew of my family relations and wouldn't say anything about it, but I sincerely hoped that Cecilia Maybelle wouldn't connect the dots. "Hey, you're in this one," she said, pointing to the corps photo from the year that I marched.

"Yes, I marched with the Crusaders when I was fifteen," I answered.

"Why didn't you keep marching?" Eliz asked. "It's not like you aged out or anything."

"I had some… family things come up and I got the position of drum major, so I decided take the summer off last year," I answered, trying not to allude to what had actually happened.

"What about this year?" Cecilia Maybelle asked.

"I'm head drum major," I said, reaching under my chair to grab my trumpet case. "I needed to be here to help with the band and to teach Lauren about conducting. I had obligations here, and I've got four more years before I age out." I pulled out my trumpet and started to play some warm-up scales. Eliz and Cecilia Maybelle were giving me some odd looks. "What?" I asked.

"Why do you have a trumpet?" they asked together.

"Because I take trumpet lessons," I answered, pulling out the tuning slide.

"Since when?" Eliz asked, sounding skeptical.

I took a moment to think back. "About six years."

"You've been taking lessons on trumpet since sixth grade? Weren't you starting on french horn then?"

"I started taking lessons on horn in fifth grade," I answered shortly. I really didn't want to go into that discussion. Thankfully I didn't have to because Markus walked down the stairs with some music in his hands. "He wanted me to give these to you," Markus said, handing it to me.

"Thanks." I grabbed it and started looking over the pieces.

Markus stood there for a moment before speaking again. "How good is your range?" he asked.

"With good tone, high C," I answered. "High D on a good day."

"Don't do the second one then, unless you want to work on your range," he said. "It goes up to a double G, so I wouldn't recommend it. He might want you to, but I wouldn't."

"Thanks." Markus nodded and headed back up the stairs. I went back to the pieces and from what I could tell Eliz and Cecilia Maybelle were still looking at the drum corps pictures. They were talking to each other, but I really didn't pay attention to what they were saying. After a while Drew came out with his horn. I made my way to the door, but Father stepped out of it. "Drake, something came up," he said, closing the door behind him. "We'll reschedule for some time later this week." He walked past Drew and climbed the stairs. I started putting my trumpet away as Eliz and Drew started chatting.

"You ready to go?" Drew asked.

"Hell yes," Cecilia Maybelle answered. "I can't stand being in the vicinity of Joshua for another minute."

"Enjoy your sectional," I said.

"You should come with us, Drake," Eliz said out of the blue.

"What?"

"Well, we are going to be practicing so it'd be good to have a drum major there," she answered. "And since your lesson was cancelled you're not exactly busy or anything."

I looked at the three of them. While I didn't really want to do anything involving the band for the rest of the day, I knew that there were parts that the flutes really needed help on. Mentally cursing myself, I decided to go with them. "Okay, sounds good."

Famous last words.


End file.
